


Unintended

by sheron



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Break Up, Bucky Barnes Is a Good Bro, Canon-Typical Violence, Civil War Fix-It, Complicated Relationships, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Infidelity, Emotionally Crippled Idiots In Love, Fix-It, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt Tony Stark, Injury, M/M, Misunderstandings, No Spoilers, Not Actually Unrequited Love, POV First Person, POV Steve Rogers, Peter Parker is a Good Bro, Pining, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Civil War, Post-Infinity War, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Protective James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Protective Natasha Romanova, Romance, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-08 00:42:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 37,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13446870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheron/pseuds/sheron
Summary: After the war with Thanos is over, there's still this: Steve is in love with Tony, but Tony is getting married to Pepper. It's fine.(Until it isn't.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thanks goes out to [Sholio](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sholio/pseuds/Sholio/works), who listened to me talk her ear off about a pairing she doesn't even ship and who encouraged me to write anyway. This story wouldn't exist without her support. I am also deeply indebted to [vorkosigan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vorkosigan/works) for all her help, and to [Winterstar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterstar/pseuds/Winterstar/works) and [MsErmestH](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MsErmestH/pseuds/MsErmestH/works) for their thorough beta. 
> 
> I drew inspiration for this story from several sources. One was a story I read more than a decade ago by LoneWolf in an anime fandom, which obviously stayed with me enough that I always wanted to try writing something in that vein. 
> 
> This story is compliant with the events of _Homecoming_ and starts off with Pepper and Tony engaged. However, as it is told entirely from Steve's POV there is very little actual Pepper/Tony to be found here, so please do not read if you're looking for a happy ending for that pairing. Stony is the endgame here. I wanted to take into account the idea of Tony's engagement and write a Steve/Tony fic around it. I love both characters and I hope that comes across. This story is now complete.

 

**"You are incomplete until you're in love, then you are finished." ― Unknown Author**

 

 

After the Battle of New York, I thought I'd seen enough of this life that nothing could surprise me anymore. I'd fought in the biggest war in human history and been frozen for seventy years before waking up in a new century. I'd fought aliens, alongside an alien, and became part of an Initiative of extraordinary people, driven together as much by our outsider status as by the over-riding need to shield our world from harm. And in all of this, as much as each new wonder and terror of this world made me question myself and whether I was doing the right thing, I always thought I was ready.

I hadn't expected him, or the way initial dislike could turn into its opposite.

No, I take that back. I don't think we ever truly disliked one another. Rather, from the moment we met there had been magnetic forces acting between us, attracting and repulsing in turn. Some people like to talk about fate or destiny in times like this. I simply knew from the moment I met him that Tony Stark was going to be important. I just didn't know he was going to be important to _me_ or how much.

Like I said, back then I tended to assume that I was prepared for whatever was coming. I still thought that way even as SHIELD fell, and Bucky came back. Even when I didn't know what the right thing to do was, and Peggy had to help me remember where we all started, I still thought if I struggled, and fought, and punched my way through adversity, I would eventually find myself on the right path again. As the world moved on, I was ready to face down Ultron, and then our government, and then even my teammates because it was the right thing to do, even if it was the most painful choice of my lifetime. Afterwards, after our fight, and my exile, and then the global threat that brought us together again, after Thanos, I thought I was ready for anything.

I wasn't.  


 

* * *

 

I realized I didn't want him only as a friend when I heard about his engagement to Pepper Potts, which was my typical excellent timing. 

I was still in Wakanda then, during the downtime between one secret mission and the next that my team all went on from time to time when the circumstances warranted it. I heard of Tony's engagement on TV, the speculation about the wedding ― no date set ― blasting away on every damn channel, and I knew in the horrific rush of disappointment and resentment that I didn't love and miss him the way one misses a buddy. I knew too well what missing my friend, one who might as well be my brother, felt like. I loved Bucky. I wanted to spend time with Bucky, and do right by him, and thinking about him happy made my heart glad. But I did not resent his developing romance with Natasha, or their lingering touches and the new-found brightness in their eyes that they thought they hid from everyone else.

When I looked at the picture of Tony and Pepper together, my heart was heavy with a different kind of longing. I wanted him to look at me like that, even as I understood the impossible nature of that hunger. I was jealous. I admit that.

Understanding what I wanted from him didn't change a thing. My feelings for a man half-way across the world did not make the daily agenda. I felt almost disassociated from myself, because I didn't know what I was supposed to _do_ anymore, let alone worrying about broken relationships and my barely acknowledged desire.

And I had time to adjust to the idea before Thanos attacked Earth, bringing both groups of Avengers together to fight him, and putting an end to our careful arrangement of never running into one another.

When I saw Tony again, it was like an arrow through my chest, the pain bright, and sharp, and biting. He spoke to me ― through the armor, and only a few sentences ― and I knew that we could build on that. We could fix things between us. He threw the Captain America's shield to me, and I caught it, because this was bigger than ourselves and what we wanted. Someone _had_ to carry the shield, we were not in a place to sneer at any viable advantage, and so I stepped into those shoes again for the duration of this war to defend the Earth. 

Iron Man and I fought against the invading force, and I dared to hope again, under the bleakest of circumstances. I guess I always found my strength in adversity.

The fighting on Earth we coordinated from the remodeled compound, which Tony had generously afforded for our use again. It was almost like having my home back again, to be surrounded by the walls that housed all my friends, whenever there was downtime during fighting. I had my room back. The walls were new, but most of the furniture was mine; the bed in the middle was the same bed I'd slept in before. Tony had said he hadn't changed anything because he expected us back eventually. Even Bucky who had a complicated relationship with Tony to say the least, was welcomed at the compound because when it came to fighting this war we knew how it had to be done. Together.

"Barnes," Tony would throw out the name, like a gauntlet that demanded Bucky's presence be acknowledged, refusing to pretend Bucky wasn't there or didn't have a voice. It was a challenge, yes, but it held an olive branch in its grasp. Tony knew what had been done to Bucky, that he was innocent, that he was a good man forced by his captors into a terrible servitude. And yet sometimes Bucky would gesture with his right arm, his human arm, and Tony's eyes would follow it, caught, like he couldn't look away. I could see it in his face, the terrible awareness. _This hand strangled my mother_. The moment passed and Tony would yank his eyes away, shiver. Sometimes he'd blink slowly and heavily, his throat working to swallow, while he put that thought away, shoved the memory out of sight. Then things went back to 'normal'. 

Watching that happen was its own special hell. I wished I could make things easier. I felt helpless up against everything still raw between the two of us. Tony and I both _tried_. We listened to one another, discussed strategy, planned, trusted each other in a fight. The rest lay at our feet, unspoken. Sometimes I felt as if we were looking at each other almost longingly from two sides of a deep and narrow fault, with a roaring river between us that neither knew how to cross. If one of us tried, he would certainly fall and drown. But we still wanted to get across.

So we built bridges. We eased into this new dynamic slowly, inch by inch. Fortunately or not, there were plenty of opportunities for courage and for having each other's back. 

Thanos had brought an army, a mishmash of races of people from the planets he had conquered on his trek through the galaxy that had sworn an oath of obedience to him out of fear or ambition. We easily recognized the Chitauri as they swarmed the streets of New York once again, only this time we knew their weaknesses and we were ready for them. This time we had technology and magic on our side, too.

And we won. 

The Avengers destroyed Thanos even as the Infinity Stones shattered... or so a magician called Dr. Strange tells us. Nobody else could quite remember the events of that day. The memory niggled at you when you weren't paying attention, a bit like seeing movement out of the corner of your eye, but when we tried to think about it too hard, there was nothing there. In the days since, I must have heard Tony grumble about how much he hated magic at least a dozen times. 

But magic or no, Thanos was gone. We had to mop up the remaining alien forces stranded on our planet, most of them viciously against simple surrender. All across the Earth and space people rose up against the invading forces, and with perseverance and great personal sacrifice from many, we beat them back. Humanity survived.

The Avengers, as a united force, survived. 

Weeks passed and the alien forces dwindled, we were rooting out the last of them in short, targeted excursions.

That day, Tony and I had somehow ended up on the same city block. One of the last skirmishes was on the streets of Manhattan against a group of blue-skinned aliens. We were down to the last few invaders, who held a group of civilians hostage at gun point with their quad blasters by one of the walls of a building. The aliens wanted safe passage off the planet, which was doable, but they wanted to keep the hostages with them as insurance which was a definite no.

So it came down to one final fight, the two of us against five of them. Good odds with what we were working with.

Tony flew ahead because he had the armored suit and he never asked for backup.

Busy with my own fight, I didn't see him get struck down.

I don't think I ever really thought of Iron Man as invincible, but when I heard a heavy clang of metal against concrete, my heart suddenly paused for a split second before resuming its beat. I slugged my opponent with all my strength behind the swing and, while he flopped senseless against the concrete, I was already swirling around.

The last two aliens lay crumpled on the ground, the civilians had scattered, and Iron Man lay unmoving across the street, tossed like a rag doll. There was a third alien towering over him, a massive glowing weapon pointed at Tony's head. I didn't even think. My shield throw hit the mark and his headless body slumped down first to the knees, then to the ground next to Iron Man.

I didn't remember running there, but I must have, because suddenly I was kneeling beside Tony and grabbing for his suit, shouting his name.

A twitch of the fingers and his faceplate lifted. His waxy skin and eyes bright with pain instantly convinced me that this was serious. I radioed for help even as I looked Tony over. I couldn't spot any injuries because of the armored suit, but he was in obvious distress: breathing shallow, his eyes roaming and unfocused. Suddenly I felt his hand grip my wrist.

"Are they okay?" Tony whispered harshly.

It took me an actual second to understand the question. The civilians. "They are safe," I told him. "You need to get out of the suit. Where are you hurt?"

A wet gasp. "All of them?"

"Yes, all!" I may well have snapped in frustration. "Tony. The suit!"

His eyes fluttered shut momentarily, but he obeyed, and suddenly the suit was falling off him, revealing him for my eyes. He lay on top of the metal shivering in his underarmor. "Not feeling so hot," he murmured, eyes half-shut as if it took too much energy to keep them open all the way. "Did I do okay?"

"You were good, Tony. They made it out. All of them made it out." I wasn't even sure what I was saying, I just wanted to keep him calm while I patted him down for injuries. He hissed when I found his right side just over the hipbone, and my hands came away wet with blood.

"All?" he repeated, sounding distant. "I didn't see it..."

"Yeah. Just―. Hold on." He was bleeding badly from a gash in his right side. His liver? The suit should have protected him! There was so much blood; it trickled through my fingers.

He gave a wheezing cough. The air was full of burnt fuel and ozone, but all I could smell was the blood.

"Hold on. Help is coming." I unrolled a bundle of gauze from the utility belt and stuck it right up against the wound, making him groan. At least it helped control the bleeding.

"I want to see them," he said, twisting. It was the worst possible thing for him to be doing, but he did it anyway. I was going to push him down and stop him from moving, but I made a mistake of looking into his eyes. "Cap?" Tony said. And he looked at me with infinity in his dark eyes as they met mine, gleaming on his clammy face. "Let me see they're okay."

I know I acted like a fool in love, I _was_ a fool in love, but at that moment, seeing him slipping away before my eyes, I couldn't refuse him anything. So I placed a hand under his head and lifted his upper body off the ground a little ― all without removing the pressure on the wound at his side I was keeping from bleeding ― to help him see that there were no bloody human corpses behind us.

"Good," he said simply and sagged against me. The fault-lines between us seemed to vanish as I held him. I suppose such things took a backstage in dire times.

Rather than set him back down on the cold, hard ground, I shifted so his upper body would lie a little on my thighs, a little in my arms. Carrying him was out of the question. I wanted to keep him warmer than his thin underarmor would. He was going into shock. Tony's eyes were looking up at me, but they seemed distant. I wasn't sure if he was seeing me at all; the dreamy quality of his expression was chilling me to my bones. I'd seen men die with that faraway look. 

"Cap, help is three minutes out," Sam said over the comm.

I tried to catch Tony's eyes, to have him focus on me instead of the pain.

"Tony? Tony! Help is almost here. _Stay with me._ "

A corner of his mouth twitched up. I have no idea what he was finding so funny about the situation because I felt like I could shake apart. I never did find out. His eyes rolled up and he slumped completely in my arms, face going slack. I pressed my cheek to his forehead and didn't sob.

When the ambulance got there, I was clutching him in a one armed embrace, still pressing on his wound with one hand. I remember being deadly afraid that if I let him go, he would simply slip away. I remember that, even though I don't remember a whole lot immediately after.

Anyway, someone had recorded the entire thing on their cell-phone camera and posted it online.

I hadn't prepared for that either.  


 

* * *

 

Minutes became interminable hours as Tony fought for his life in the hospital. 

The doctors worked to keep him alive, and kept him sedated then for the recovery after. His liver was lacerated and needed reconstruction. The entire thing held a sense of unreality for me. I couldn't quite picture him under the knife like that, even though logically I knew he'd gone through many difficult surgeries in his life.

I guess when I pictured him, I always saw him with an intensely intelligent look in his eyes, in motion, with his hands moving as he talked. Captivatingly alive.

I couldn't picture Tony without that vital spark and I couldn't visit him in the hospital to see for myself. What would it help? I wouldn't be welcome. I was unnecessary to the process. Rhodes and Pepper were staying with him around the clock and had the power of attorney for any decisions the doctors had to make.

I had a duty to the city to help with the restoration effort. I also felt a responsibility to the team when it came to handling the reckless show of emotion that I'd displayed when I held Tony as he was dying.

See, if someone records you holding another man the way I had clutched Tony to myself on that street, completely unwilling to let go when the first responders gently tried to guide me away, well, upon seeing the video the public tends to come to their own conclusions. Reporters on the scene had asked me about _my_ feelings, as Tony was being taken away in an ambulance, and I ― angry that I couldn't go with him, disgusted that they weren't all as uniformly horrified by the idea of Tony being hurt as I was ― I didn't think for a moment, snapping, "He got hurt saving lives."

In the video recording, my hands were still covered in his blood. I watched them shove the mics towards me, as if scenting weakness. "You're down an Avenger, if the Earth is attacked again―"

"Tony will be okay!"

"Avengers have cheated death before. Do you have another trick up your sleeve?"

"My trick is called _faith_. I have faith in Tony. I believe he's gonna get through this, because I need him to― I need him! I can't lose him like this―" I had pushed the mic out of my face with a hand; the rest of the recording was garbled.

Later, when I looked at myself in the news clips saying that, with _that_ expression on my face, I could still remember how much I didn't care what anyone knew at that moment. Me being in love with Tony didn't change anything, couldn't make Tony feel better. Just then that was all I _could_ think about ― Tony, Tony hurt. But it was explained to me later that the sound-bite about Captain America's feelings for Tony Stark wasn't going away any time soon.

When another reporter asked me about it later, it felt like betraying Tony to say I felt nothing for him while he fought for his life, so I didn't dissemble, I didn't refute their prurient suggestions. The late night humour shows took my implicit confirmation and ran with it, and by the next morning I couldn't have denied being in love with him if I tried. In a way, I too found their riffs of my torch for Iron Man darkly humorous. I knew how crazy I was to love him.

Bucky didn't look at me any differently.

Sam obliquely offered to talk if I wanted to. 

Natasha said she was there for me no matter what. And that she'd stop trying to set me up with girls.

The Avengers carried on with their lives. Clint and Scott went back to their families. Wanda and Vision went traveling, finding comfort in each other's arms. Bruce vanished with a promise to come back for Tony's wedding, so did Thor. Peter Parker was on hand in his Spiderman identity.

We'd beaten back our adversaries and all the cities around the world were in full recovery mode. Humans were resilient, I already knew that. I tried to help the relief effort where I could, tried to keep busy and not spend every waking moment worrying about him; still in the hospital. On the third day after that last fight, I went to see him. I knew he would be asleep (I was kept updated on his condition by our mutual friends, he was out of mortal danger but still terribly weak and unconscious most of the time), but I only wanted to see him just once. Just to erase the last memory I had of him, in my arms, of his faraway look.

I hadn't planned on what to say if Pepper was there with him, but at that point my excellent timing and lack of preparation was hardly news anymore.  


 

* * *

 

What do you say to the fiancée of a man you publicly professed having feelings for?

I didn't know and so didn't say anything. I just stood frozen in the doorway to his private hospital room while Pepper looked back at me across the bed where Tony slept, his face pale in a way I'd never seen it before. My heartbeat thundered in my ears. I was torn between the desire to walk over to him and touch him to ensure he was truly okay, and the equally strong desire to leave immediately. I'd picked a time early in the morning when I had hoped to catch him alone, but maybe Pepper was spending her nights in his room. Neither of us would have been sleeping, anyway.

Pepper was holding one of Tony's hands in hers. She looked poised. That was something I always noticed about Pepper: how even in moments of great personal stress she looked composed and full of the kind of inner self-assurance that didn't require admiration or praise. I could imagine Tony loving her for that. Too often he needed recognition from someone else to see his own worth.

"Steve," she said eventually, rising from her hard, metal chair and letting go of Tony's hand. "It's good of you to come."

I wanted to leave. I also needed to know Tony's status. I pushed away my straying emotions and met her eyes. "How is he?" I could see Tony's pale face, serene in sleep, but I had to know more.

"Tony is doing as well as can be expected," she answered quietly, walking around the bed to meet me at the entrance of the room. She was one of the few women tall enough to look me directly in the eyes. Her heels made a soft clacking sound against linoleum floor until she paused a few feet away. Pepper didn't look angry, but she did look tired. Her voice when she said Tony's name made it obvious how much she loved him, it was as if she carefully wrapped the sound in warmth and care before speaking it. I don't know what I sounded like when I said it. 

I was uncomfortably aware that she knew how I felt. _Everyone_ knew. Except for Tony, of course. _Irony_.

After a moment standing in a tense silence, Pepper said, "Why don't we walk to the cafeteria together? We should talk."

I didn't want to wake Tony ― actually nothing would have made me happier than to see him awake again to dispel the memories in my head, but this wasn't about me ― so I followed her out of the room, down the winding hallways of the hospital.

"How have you been?" she asked me, not unkindly.

I shrugged a shoulder. "There's a lot to be done around the city." I told her about the reconstruction efforts that had already started while we walked the long beige hallways of the hospital.

She paused in her walk, and touched a gentle hand to my elbow. "I didn't ask about that. How have _you_ been?" Her eyes squinted, looking into my face as if she could spot something. "When was the last time you had a good night's sleep?"

"The 40s?" I was trying for levity, but even though it was mostly a joke (I'd slept well enough under Tony's roof, back before everything went to hell), she looked at me like she knew the answer was also a little bit serious.

"You look it," she said with a purse of her lips.

We each grabbed hot coffee from a nearby vending machine and sipped the bitter drink.

I wanted to ask how she was doing, in return, it seemed only polite, but I didn't know where to start. She was the CEO of Stark Industries and her fiancé just brushed death's door again. The stocks of the company roiled on the possibility of Tony Stark not making it through. The tabloid stands were full of conjecture on how Tony and Pepper would navigate another tough moment, rehashing previous rumours of breakups and fights, as predictable as the tide in their speculation. All of us had learned to ignore that bullshit.

Thankfully, Pepper cut through the polite small talk. "I wanted to talk to you about our wedding in two months."

They'd set a date. It was in the news before Thanos had attacked, and they were keeping the date they'd set originally out of sheer determined cussedness. 

Knowing Tony was about to be married was almost a relief in some ways. The interminable limbo I existed in currently, where he was just out of reach yet not completely, played havoc with my head.

Pepper said, "Before life went tipsy-curvy on us again we decided if we kept waiting for things to calm down we'll never go through with it. There is always another crisis. As soon as he is well again..." She looked troubled in the direction we came from, but shook her head refocusing. "It'll be a small ceremony, friends and family only. I'm handling all the planning because if I leave it up to Tony he'll invite the entire country."

My invitation might get lost in the mail.

Pepper could probably read my face because she said apologetically, "Things have been ...difficult between the two of you."

No kidding. It took an interplanetary conflict for him to speak with me again, to accept my presence next to him again. Even though we all lived at the Compound now, it was a long way from here to being welcome at his wedding.

In the long days in exile, pouring over what happened between us in my head on an endless cycle of regret, I found acceptance through sheer exhaustion. After everything that happened, holding on to the old anger felt like an effort I didn't want to make. Tony should have trusted me with the Accords, but didn't. I should have trusted him, too. We had both made gigantic missteps when it came to one another. Maybe it was easier to forgive because I realized my feelings for him, or because I believed his actions had the best intentions behind them. Whatever the case, the fighting was over. What was left was to pick up the pieces of my life and try to rebuild.

Pepper had been there to help Tony pick up the pieces after Siberia, always there when he needed her the most. Her next words drew me back into the present, "I also know that the Avengers are Tony's family and it wouldn't be the same without you. All of you are invited, of course." 

I nodded, finding it hard to speak. He was down a few twisting corridors from us, and I felt like I had a thread tugging on my mind, connected to him. Like if I just stopped resisting, let myself go, I'd be pulled inevitably in his direction. Pepper was trying to say she thought I should be at the wedding, even knowing as she did about how I felt. If she set her mind to it, she could get Tony around on the subject. She was trusting me to keep myself under control while she helped us with our tangled dynamics.

Could I stand up at his wedding and smile and congratulate him for making the right choice by marrying this incredible, smart and capable woman? My compartmentalization skills were going to get a full work out.

" _Steve!_ " Her face creased in sudden concerned understanding, as if she realized what she was asking of me, and I had to cut away to look at a nearby wall, flushing. "I don't know if this is the right thing to ask. You can think about it. You don't have to give me an answer right away. I won't hold it against you if you say no."

I glanced back her way, curious.

"We are all public figures. Even if we keep it small, the wedding is going to attract quite a bit of attention. So I am asking you to consider joining us in another capacity: I'd like you to handle the security on the day."

Ah. 

"I know that way we'd be as safe as we can be," she added.

Strategically, it was sound. It would quench the media questions that would inevitably crop up if I skipped a fellow Avenger's wedding. I could attend in some capacity that didn't force Tony to bear my presence if he wasn't comfortable, and wouldn't put the rest of our mutual friends in an unenviable position of having to choose sides.

I could watch over him.

Pepper glanced back the way we came, eyes distant. "I know you care about Tony."

I appreciated her attempts to normalize the situation nearly as much as I appreciated her giving me something to do. A bittersweet thought occurred to me. She could make him happy the way I never could. And I wanted him to be happy, didn't I? I had to focus on that.

"I'll do it."

She blinked. "Take some time to think about it first."

I'd already made up my mind. I realized that now I had an opportunity to do this, I wouldn't trust anyone else with the security at the event anyway. Almost everyone I cared about in this world would be there. "You are right that we need someone to make sure everyone is safe, and it shouldn't be Tony worrying about it."

"He'll worry anyway. I know who I'm marrying." Her smile turned wry. "I know he is an Avenger first. I've accepted that."

She and I both knew him well enough for that. Tony would insert himself into any security planning that happened. It would give us a pretext to continue fixing the rift between us, assuming he wanted to. If I did this, I'd test myself. I would know if I could work with him again despite my feelings. I could also pay him back for all the generosity shown my way over the years.

"Thank you," I said in a rush of gratitude. I think I surprised her with how heartfelt it was. "Thank you for this."

"Alright," Pepper said, with a relieved expression.

"I'll take care of it," I assured her, knowing there was a lot more on her mind.

"I have to head back to Tony." She touched a hand to her tired eyes briefly, a momentary show of weariness, before she straightened again, composed. "I don't want him to wake up alone in an unfamiliar room."

I knew a little of what that's like.  


 

* * *

 

"Dumbass," Bucky said when I told him about my agreement with Pepper.

The problem was, I could distinctly remember when seeing someone behaving the way I was would have been incomprehensible. I knew that the logical thing for me to do was to get some distance from the situation rather than take this job. Unfortunately, logic had very little to do with the way I felt. I didn't want more distance. I didn't want to stop loving Tony. 

I didn't love him because it was _convenient_ for me or because he was (very) easy on the eyes and I enjoyed being near him. I loved how he thought, and how he moved, the sharpness of his tongue and his ever present sense of humour. Even his flaws became endearing in the close-up. I loved his brilliance and his conviction. I loved _who he was_. I could no more wish to forget these reasons for loving him that I could want to be stumbling around blind and unaware. So I welcomed the feeling, even when it was hopeless, because this way I wasn't betraying who I was. And who I was happened to be in love with a man that checked on civilians while he bled out. I needed to feel this way to feel alive. I think Bucky understood that about me, because other than that one comment he made no other remarks on the subject.

Besides, Tony could use a little love. More people should have loved him, harder, throughout his life, I thought. I hoped when he eventually found out about how I felt, he'd feel flattered.

Sam and Natasha didn't fuss over my decision, but I knew I had their full support in case I needed it. Somehow I had the luck to find myself surrounded with the best people.

While Tony was still in the hospital (under protest, I was led to understand by the other Avengers who visited him), I started to scope out the venue where they planned to hold the reception, in a high-class hotel with a garden in upstate New York. Not too far from the Avengers compound. The place had been picked by Pepper, which meant it was actually something that could reasonably be secured without involving the entire national security apparatus.

Even so there was a contingent of security personnel from Stark Industries hired specifically to look after the various aspects of security, helping me do my job. Some I knew from my time with SHIELD, brought over along with Maria Hill after SHIELD's collapse, some faces were new, but all were handpicked and trusted personnel. Even though under Pepper's orders everyone technically reported to me, Tony's old bodyguard and previous head of security, Happy Hogan, was officially in charge of SI personnel, something he insisted on repeating unnecessarily often, with dark glares thrown my way. I was fine with him handling the paperwork and personnel assignments: he'd been doing the job for years and Tony trusted him. He could lead the effort to protect Tony from regular threats. But Tony was an extraordinary man, with extraordinary enemies, and handling _those_ threats was my job.

I couldn't remember anything but surface interactions with Hogan previously ― mostly as Tony's underemployed driver, we'd never had any trouble ― so his clear antipathy now that we were forced to work closely together for the first time was a distraction for several days, until we finally had it out.

He walked in on me washing my face in the men's room and the sour expression ticked up on his face as our eyes met in the mirror over the sink. I wiped my face with a paper towel and watched his mouth twist down further in displeasure. I needed to know what was causing that, although I had a suspicion, based on the way he answered the phone whenever Ms. Potts was on the line.

I was deliberately calm. "Is there a problem?" Body-language as non-threatening as possible, I turned around to face the other man.

Hogan looked at me for a long moment, like he was debating himself, unconsciously twisting the knob of the door he was still holding. I leaned against the sink behind me and waited him out.

"Pepper Potts is the best thing that's ever happened to him," Happy finally said and his glare intensified. "So no funny business, you hearing me?"

I lifted both hands in surrender. "Just here to do my job."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, his tone caustic with suspicion. I wasn't sure he believed me, but at least he tried to tone down the attitude after that exchange. He was still protective to a fault when it came to Pepper and Tony, but I got the benefit of the doubt that I wasn't trying to cause trouble for them. It was true. I wasn't.

Trouble just seemed to always find me.  


 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Just because the tabloid press thought the most important news of the week was that the Stark wedding was still on ― forget the recent alien invasion, that was so last Monday ― didn't mean the rest of the world stopped. I still had reports to prepare, Avengers whereabouts to account for. The rule where we had to report our location on a continuous basis still bothered me even after Sam explained this wasn't that unusual: his example was athletes having to report daily to an anti-doping agency and face random checkups. I still resented the invasion of privacy.

Resenting the hell out of them, I filled out the forms meticulously into the late AM hours the day Tony was coming home. I wanted everything to be in order so that none of the bureaucrats had any excuse to bother us for the next week or so while he recovered at the compound.

Natasha caught us up with Tony's progress over breakfast. Having checked himself out of the hospital (too soon), he was coming back to the compound with Rhodes. Pepper had to return to her duties as CEO and flew out to the West Coast that morning, planning to come back for the weekend. Even though after all the fighting we'd just been through, Rhodes was desperately needed back at the Pentagon, he was sticking around a few extra hours to make sure Tony would be back safe, with us.

"They are roughly thirty minutes away," Natasha said, and turned to Bucky. "Want to spar in the gym?"

Bucky knew to take her up on the offer. He and Tony might have cleared the air and have come to tolerate each other, but theirs wasn't the kind of relationship which required Bucky be the first thing Tony saw upon coming home. So Bucky and Natasha moved their morning activities to the gym, which was reasonably the last place Tony would show his face that day.

Sam had twisted his ankle in the earlier fighting, so he and I stayed in the communal area. I tried to breathe through the adrenaline thrumming through my veins. I had a very dry tome of legalese on my lap that I was skimming ― I had a feeling there were numerous hearings in my future about the events of the past couple of months, best to be prepared ― but mostly I kept re-reading the same paragraph over and over, not really seeing it, when FRIDAY announced the arrivals in her dulcet tones.

I turned my head over the back of the couch and half rose off it when I heard voices from the hallway.

Tony was striding into the room saying, "―coffee, then armor―" with Rhodes hot on his heels.

"Absolutely not! They've got you on so many drugs right now―" Rhodes was protesting.

"Coffee first," Tony said, intractable about his goal, heading for the kitchenette to the right of the door. 

For a man freshly out of the hospital, Tony looked remarkably mobile, no stutter in his step. He wore black jeans and a dark long-sleeved shirt that hugged his form, puckering a bit over the bandage underneath, on his right side. Tony's feet carried him several spaces into the room before he noticed me and Sam, both of us rising from the couch to face them. Tony paused, eyes raking over us, then did an abrupt heel turn. "Well, you convinced me, armor first."

"Tony, are you," ― I started, but he was already out the door ― "okay?" I finished into the silent room.

"He's still a bit loopy," Rhodes said, glancing at the door in the wake of Tony's abrupt departure. He shook his head. "And mad you never visited him at the hospital."

I startled, glancing at him uncertainly. I hadn't gone when Tony was awake.

"Asked me once if you were injured when he first woke up, but I think he got the message eventually."

"I―"

"Dick move by the way," Rhodes threw over his shoulder, before chasing after Tony out the door.

I didn't say anything. 

I thought I was pretty good at shoving moments like this down, but Sam guessed something, because he came over and put a hand on my shoulder, tempering me.

"Like navigating a mine-field at night, with Stark," he commiserated, making me smile a bit. 

"It's not that. I knew he'd want me to come." Tony liked attention.

"Why didn't you go then?" Sam glanced at me puzzled.

"Didn't trust myself," I admitted, feeling my neck flush. Not many people I would have admitted that to, but Sam was a solid presence at my side. The best kind of a wing-man.

Sam squeezed my shoulder once and let go.

"Gonna bring him coffee and talk to him?" he said encouragingly, always the peacekeeper.

"He shouldn't be having coffee," I grumbled, making Sam laugh.

But Sam was right, the ball was in my court for the next move. Tony and I didn't talk, sure, but we'd fought together. I should have visited. I knew him enough to know he had probably come up with a dozen reasons he hadn't deserved a check in from me, none of them true. I wanted to make it up to him somehow. Except that he was annoyingly self-sufficient, and never seemed to need anyone ― save maybe Pepper and Rhodes; he sure as hell didn't need _me_. None of the other Avengers remaining at the compound had the kind of relationship with Tony where casual hanging out was involved, but as I thought about Pepper having to fly out to California for business and about Rhodes having to return to D.C. in short order, I knew there was one more person that had the knack for cheering Tony up.

I called him right away.

"Captain Rogers?" he squawked. Even though Peter Parker was older now, I still always pictured him as the fifteen-year-old kid I'd first met: brave and star-struck. "W-what can I do for you?"

"Hey Peter."

"Hey?" Peter asked. Then his tone sharpened. "Is everything okay? Is _everyone_ okay?"

"All good. No emergencies. Tony's back home today."

Sam sighed and moved off to the kitchenette to fix himself a sandwich.

"Oh. That's great." Peter meant it.

"Was wondering if you had time to swing by."

"I'd love to!" Peter enthused, then his voice fell with finality, "But I can't." I figured my silence would be enough of a prompt and I was right. He hurried to explain, speaking so fast his words were tripping over each other. "It's not that I don't want to. It's just I promised the guys from Damage Control I'd help out in my―" he lowered his voice to a whisper― " _Spiderman_ capacity, and I've got a work deadline, and I promised Aunt May to―"

"Okay, okay. Got it." I could only shake my head. "What's the D.O.D.C up to?"

"There's a collapsed building nearby where my school was, they need help cleaning that up 'cause I sorta―Anyhow! I promised to lift heavy things."

"I could see about helping you with that." I knew a couple of friends that could be talked into it as well. I saw Sam lift his head and give me a questioning look, and smiled blandly at him.

"Oh, well, I still need to write _something_ for the Bugle. Was supposed to get it done last week, but you know." I could practically see him wave to encompass the relief efforts all across New York. Alien attacks trumped regular work, most days. "I'm interning, and there's only so much leeway pictures of Spiderman can buy me with the boss. I haven't really had time to work on it and he is gonna kill me. So."

"What are you writing about?"

"Uh. The relief effort, probably." 

I took the phone with me out into the hallway, I didn't really want Sam to overhear this part. "Anything particular?"

"Honestly, anything that'll sell the paper. Everyone has already covered the invasion from like, two hundred different angles so short of taking pictures of Thanos or of the Avengers I really don't have many ideas."

I winced even as I made my offer. "An interview with Captain America fit the bill?"

Peter said flatly, "Are you kidding?"

That was unexpected. I cleared my throat. "Err..."

"Are you kidding me?! _Oh my God._ Yes!"

"Ah." Enthusiasm of youth? I hoped I didn't regret this.

"You'll let me ask you questions?" he squawked. "And take pictures?" 

"Exclusive interview," I said wryly. "Twenty minutes."

Very quietly, he repeated, "Oh my God."

"So if we get that taken care of, you'll―"

"But, Captain Rogers, do you know how much that interview is worth?" he said, kind of earnestly and with great sincerity. I appreciated that. I was aware of the interest. Except for those PSAs they still asked me to do, it took no effort to turn the offers down. "You've refused all interviews until now. There are people in this business who would chew off their right arm to get a quote from you about everything that's been going on for the past couple of years. You don't really want to waste this opportunity on...me....?"

"I'd rather talk to a friend," I assured him.

There was a sort of choking sound on the phone line. I think he didn't realize we were friends, but in my book once you fought off an invasion together, it bound you for life.

Hushed voice came across the phone line, "Okay."

"Swing by. Tony could use some cheering up," I told him. "And give me the address of the wreckage. The Avengers will take care of it."

By the time I walked back into the common area, Sam was finishing his sandwich.

"You've got the look," he said. At my questioning expression, he explained. " _There's a thing that needs doing, Sam_ , look. What is it and when do we start?"  


 

* * *

 

Natasha and Bucky didn't fuss about helping out. To be honest, with the fighting over, all of us were running on nightmares and adrenaline. This was a good, clean way to pass the time. We had gone out on numerous occasions for similar relief efforts to Brooklyn and Hell's Kitchen, and this was no different. I called Pepper and she made arrangements so that by the time we got to the site there was a white van parked at the curb ― Stark Industries logo plastered all over the sides ― and once we opened up the doors the folks working at the scene took to us with gusto considering we brought with us free lunch. It was good publicity.

There was nothing quite like watching the ex-Winter Soldier hand out juice bottles to the local kids as they fearlessly swarmed him from all sides. They loved his metal arm. Natasha ignored his eye-rolls and took pictures with her cell-phone, tongue between her teeth, barely hiding a smile.

I was in my Captain America uniform. Something about putting the uniform on again these days made everything feel raw in a way it never had before. When I smoothed out the collar in front of the mirror that morning, I wondered if Peggy would have recognized the man I had become. Too withdrawn, too cold.

I wanted to go help these people in Queens not just for their sake or for Peter's, but for my own as well. I wanted to do something other than punch things, or watch friends bleed out in my arms. I'd gotten too used to being alone. I wanted to feel connected to this country again, to its virtues, instead of being stuck alone in my own head contemplating my purpose.

Natasha and Bucky helped clear the site of debris and remove hazards, while Sam, still nursing a healing ankle injury from earlier, mixed cement for the next phase of work, while I lifted heavy things. It took almost all day.

By the time we made it back to the compound, dirty, grimy and weary, it was sundown, but I felt a sense of hopefulness again about humanity and my place in the world. I showered and went to make myself tea before retiring for the evening, and there Tony and Peter were, right in the common room, playing some kind of a video game with cars racing on the big screen hanging from the ceiling. Peter was still in his Spiderman costume, with only the mask lifted up to show his face, and from the scoreline he was trouncing Tony solidly. Tony looked kind of pissed off about that, but it wasn't serious anger, rather a bright competitive spark. He laughed when he managed to kick Peter's vehicle off a ramp, and that right there was the sound I'd been chasing.

As soon as Natasha walked up behind me, also freshly showered, and took in the scene, she got that look like she knew why she had to spend the day "helping our friendly Spiderman".

"You are such a marshmallow, Rogers," Nat said only for my ears, slapping me lightly on the arm as she passed by, receiving distracted hellos from both men on the couch.

Tony glanced up. His eyes were brighter than that morning, brighter than I could remember them being in so long, _so long_. That look on him froze me in my place for a moment.

Peter looked over the back of the couch as well. "Oh. Captain Rogers. Hi."

"Hi Peter. Call me Steve."

"Not gonna settle for Mr. Rogers?" Tony put in with a sly grin, setting the console down.

"Steve, please. I insist."

"Sure, man," Peter said with the same kind of cool I remembered well in myself at his age, which is to say none.

"You know you don't have to listen to him," Tony stage whispered. He was letting this be easy, maybe for Peter's sake, but I wasn't gonna look a gift horse in the mouth. I swallowed past the feeling of displacement, the missing anger and the cold-shoulder not in evidence. Breathed in. Breathed out. Tried to accept that he seemed past the perceived snub, or acting like it. With that weight off my shoulders, I was suddenly hungry again.

"Hey, I'm gonna order pizza delivery, anyone want anything?" I said brightly, reaching for a phone.

"Pepperoni," Tony said instantly.

"I thought you weren't listening to me," I teased back, confident in my ability to keep things light with Peter and Natasha there to act as a buffer between us. "Besides, you shouldn't have greasy food. Pizza for us and something else for you. A salad?"

"Jesus, no." Tony made a face and crossed his arms on his chest.

"Wouldn't kill you," I told him. "What do you want?"

"If it's not pizza, I don't care." He honestly expected me to change my mind if he pouted.

"Pick something."

"Right, meanwhile, you'll be eating delicious pizza in front of me? No thanks," Tony said. With a long suffering tone: "I'm fine."

I tossed him the phone, rolling my eyes. "Fine, you pick." Okay, I was weak. I admit that. He deserved to eat whatever he wanted after all the crap he'd been through lately. I couldn't look Natasha in the face. Peter thankfully had no reference for what was our normal.

"FRIDAY, order us a bunch of pizza from that place," Tony said immediately. "You know what? Kale pizza. Yeah. Lots of green stuff on it, make sure they load it up."

 _Kale?_ Natasha mouthed at me. I had a feeling she personally blamed me for this.

Tony looked pleased with himself for compromising, glancing up for a brief moment through thick eye-lashes as if to say, _look, look how good I'm being_. My stomach twisted. Dear Lord, I was done for.

"Okay, Cap," Tony said cheerfully. "Happy now?"

I don't know why those words made my eyes tear up. I have no idea. Maybe it was the way he said it, like...like it was _before_. With the kind of warmth he'd used _before_ when he said my name. I was glad we could be playful like that again, we hadn't lost that. In any case, I averted my eyes and still couldn't keep a smile off my lips while I poured myself a glass of water, before choking it down.

I let myself believe it could be this easy. We could be friends again.  


 

* * *

 

He found me later on the balcony overlooking the grounds, hands folded in front of me on the railing.

"I would have definitely kicked his butt if I wasn't on pain meds," Tony said without a preamble when he strolled up. He wouldn't have tried to seek me out if he was still upset about the lack of visits in the hospital, and I could see Tony was in an undeniably good mood. We were talking! I held back a smile.

"Sure," I pushed down the swell of tenderness as he came to stand next to me, leaning back against the railing. I felt like the sun had come out and stroked my skin with its warm rays, coaxing me to turn towards it, to revel in the attention.

Out here, under the stars, I could bask in being with him. I could picture us like this, through the years, spending time together as friends, as teammates. The need, the wanting to touch was still there, but banked under the steady pleasure of his presence, his company.

For a long moment we stayed there in silence. Something intimate was in the air, even though I was probably alone in thinking that.

"I thought I was the attention seeker who can't stay off the front pages around here," he teased eventually.

I looked away into the darkness, grateful for the way it hid my face heating up. Probably Peter spilled the beans about our deal: his time for my interview. We were supposed to have our one-on-one dialogue tomorrow morning. I doubted anything I had to say was front-page worthy, but I was also a realist and had been Captain America for too long.

"I don't mind too much." If it helped someone, it was worth it. Tony seemed to read the sentiment fine even without me verbalizing it.

"Helped Peter out in any case. Kid needed a break."

I glanced over at him. "So did you."

He rolled his eyes. He never took that kind of comment seriously.

I let it go for now. "I'm glad you two got a chance to spend time together."

"Yeah," he said. "Thanks for the assist." I don't think he realized he'd moved closer, brushing his fingers along the metallic railing distractedly. I was hyper-aware of those fingers laying so close to me, close enough to touch. I intertwined my fingers so I wouldn't be tempted. Things were finally alright between us, I couldn't mess with that.

Thinking about the way Peter looked at Tony, I remembered seeing the clear admiration in the boy's eyes.

"He looks up to you. It's nice to see."

"Many ways to screw that up," Tony said casually, rubbing at the metal with his fingertips and glancing away.

"You won't," I told him simply.

He looked back my way. For a rare instant, his eyes were unguarded again. "No?"

I shook my head, smiling a little.

After a silent moment, his mouth quirked up as well.  


 

* * *

 

I should have known right away that was too fast.

The ease with which we'd gotten through that day broke some kind of a dam. With a switch, Tony went from looking at me suspiciously across the room, to acting almost like things were back to normal, like we'd never fought. I felt like he pretended the last two years didn't happen. He'd been outside the room after my interview with Peter, leaning against the wall and lightly teased me about what kind of secrets would be in the paper in a few days once Peter had a chance to write it up. (None, since the only secret I had guarded was out in the open, and only the fact that Tony had been unconscious while the whole thing went down miraculously kept him from discovering it thus far. I knew I had to tell him. I just couldn't find it in myself to ruin our tentative peace. Thankfully in the time he'd spent at the hospital, the tabloids had moved on to the next scandal and my lapse was old news). 

Tony had changed. He was different that I remembered. Or no, that wasn't quite it: he was different with me. We'd never had an easy kind of friendship, the tension tended to rise up seemingly unintentionally on both our ends. But following our talk out on the balcony, Tony acted like that part wasn't there, like we were ...buddies.

He showed up when I had my breakfast and drank coffee while chatting amiably about plans for the day, and came by the gym when I was practicing, to check that the new equipment was up to snuff, he stepped in for a couple of my meetings with a liaison from Washington to offer hilariously unhelpful commentary, and generally seemed to seek out my company just to spend a bit of time together, the way we used to when we all first lived together. I could almost believe he was happy to let bygones be bygones, like I was. Which cumulated in him approaching the awkward subject of my wedding invitation.

"Pepper told me about this thing where you run the security on the Big Day, but really we both know Happy can handle it. Who'd be dumb enough to attack a party full of Avengers?"

"We have enemies," I answered firmly. He could talk all he liked, but I'd seen FRIDAY scanning for patterns in the access logs for flight manifests over the Eastern Seaboard. He had them checked daily, just as he checked on a million other things to keep us all safe. Same as me, he couldn't leave very well alone.

"And all our enemies are behind bars," he answered, something nervous in his insistence, "Rogers, you should be in the guest party."

When I wouldn't say anything, he pressed on.

"Hell, Barnes might be coming as Natasha's Plus One, so, you know..." Tony shrugged, his nose wrinkling. Bucky had shown me the invite for "Natasha and Guest", which was a peace offering if there ever was one, since everyone knew who Natasha was dating. So if Tony would go that far to mend bridges ― not just open up his home to Bucky but invite him into the intimate setting like that, as part of the team, part of the family ― then surely I could be strong enough to be present for the wedding. The polite thing to do was to accept his gesture, but I felt like my tongue turned to lead and soon enough, while we stood there in silence, a shadow crept into his eyes.

He tilted his head back and in that narrow-eyed look I read what he was thinking, that this was another rejection of an olive branch he offered. Another rejection of him.

"I'd feel better if I could keep track of security," I managed.

"My god, and Pepper says I'm a control freak," Tony said with a grin that didn't sit quite right on his face. Before I could try to fix things, he was walking around me and talking about how he had FRIDAY hooked into monitoring all the hallways, how the five-star hotel where they were holding the reception was practically an impenetrable fortress by now. We'd snapped back to normal like a rubber band. Nothing to see here. All the while he didn't look at me, the hard-won break in tension we enjoyed so briefly vanishing.

I had to tell him.

"I'll try to pop in at some point during the reception," I offered instead.

"Sure. Yeah. Whatever," he said with his back turned toward me. "I don't care."  


 

* * *

 

The next day, I saw Pepper storm out to her car on my way back into the Compound. She'd come briefly to see Tony and was leaving again.

Happy Hogan was following in her wake, trying to catch up without breaking into a run. Pepper walked like she expected every obstacle to move out of her path or be obliterated, her chest rising and falling rapidly, cheeks flushed. She clutched her phone in one hand, car keys in another. As she moved for the driver side, Hogan passed her and blocked the door with his back to the car, his hands rising in a supplicating manner, face earnest. "Let me drive you," he was saying as I slowed my approach, coming at them from the side. "Or have Tony's tech do it. You don't want to be driving like this."

After a moment of silence, Pepper rolled her eyes and slammed the car-keys into Hogan's open hand. "Only if you don't bring up _Tony's tech_ around me for the next twenty-four hours. _God!_ " With a frustrated huff she moved around the man to the back of the car, the blond ponytail a bouncing trail behind her.

Hogan mimed zipping his lips, and went to hold the back door open for her. He gave a tiny pleased smile when she got inside, her attention already on the phone in her hand, and Hogan shut the door. Then his eyes fell on me and his expression promptly cooled. "Tony will apologize and things will be perfect again," Hogan stated, as if I was a vulture waiting to swoop in at any moment of weakness.

The truth was, the realization they'd fought again didn't make me happy. I knew they belonged together; I'd internalized the truth over the years. Tony intended to keep Pepper by his side, an occasional spat notwithstanding. Hogan had nothing to worry about, in the end.

As the car drove off, I headed inside the Compound, planning on a shower and asking Friday only to get the lay of the land, "Where is Tony?"

"At the exercise course outside," she answered promptly.

That made me pause. "He is training?" His injuries had been severe enough to make that a concerning possibility. He was supposed to recuperate and take it slow, and the course was built for high-intensity activity, capable of putting any Avenger through their paces. Nor was Tony supposed to pilot the armor until he recovered past the risk of the wound reopening. Tony also had... unreliable self-preservation instincts. I changed my direction for the course without another thought.

"Boss is building a new training module," Friday answered without hesitation.

I had to see for myself.

The exercise course was at the back of the compound, a conglomeration of work-and-play areas. A shooting range, an outdoor swimming pool, a sandy court with a volleyball net swung across, and next to it an obstacle course with swinging monkey bars, cargo net walls, and a variety of suspended ladders and bars for pushing, pulling, and crawling your way across. The length and variety was enough to give me a workout, and I didn't tire easily. This was in addition to all the indoor facilities, including the state-of-the-art gym and a sparing ring inside the main building. As always, Tony had spared no expense and it showed.

As I strode across the damp green grass, I saw him in the middle of the empty obstacle course, next to the battering rams hanging off thick metallic chains. The swinging rams were one of the most challenging parts of the course, and I frequented it. Tony stood with his back to me, hand on on one hip, paused in consideration. As I came closer, I saw one of the battering rams was hanging off a single chain, the other edge laying on the ground at Tony's feet.

He was frowning at it and rubbing his chin with a thumb idly when I walked up. 

"Hey," I called softly so as not to startle him.

"Perfect," Tony said without turning, eyes narrowing at the ram by his feet. "You are just what I need. Can you hold this up for a minute?" He crouched and lifted the edge of the battering ram, about ten inches in diameter, standing up with it in his arms.

Wordlessly, I came up and set my hands next to his, lifting the piece. Tony let go, and I felt the weight of it settle on my arms. It wasn't insignificant, and I frowned his way. He wasn't supposed to be doing any heavy-lifting either, not so soon after abdominal surgery.

Tony was already grabbing an electric screwdriver and sticking various bolts and nuts into his pockets. "Hold it up there." He motioned to my shoulder level and I lifted the thick ram to where he wanted it, level with the other end that was still hanging off a chain. The ram was now at the level of my ears, and after a moment of consideration, Tony dragged a thick wooden chest over so he could stand on it to more easily reach the top of ram. I watched him for any signs of discomfort, but he climbed on top of the wooden chest easily, and that settled my mind a little. While I held up the battering ram for him, Tony worked to get it hooked up back on its chain and leaned over the thicker portion so it obscured his head. 

I thought it would be easier to be around him while I couldn't see his face. When I glanced down, his shirt had ridden up, baring a stretch of his stomach. My eyes followed the trail of dark hairs as it disappeared under the line of his jeans before I twisted my head away, to look up into the cloudless blue sky, face heating over the inappropriateness of checking him out.

"A touch lower," he instructed, voice muffled from the way he was twister around the ram, but snapping me out of my thoughts. Mentally kicking myself for being so easy, I followed his direction and lowered the weight not even a tenth of an inch, stopping when he made an approving noise. The whirr of the electric screw-driver filled the air. He was fully engaged in the current project, any arguments set aside, forgotten. I think that was why Tony applied his full focus to each task; to escape into a more logical, orderly world.

I made myself glance down again. It was just some skin. A male torso; not exactly sight unseen. I could _inure_ myself. 

The patch of skin where his abdomen was still healing stood out redder than the rest, and I caught myself wondering if the skin there would feel hotter to the touch. If I could press my lips against the healing scar, to soothe; if Tony would want that, if he would shiver with pleasure, and gasp, and smile down at me while I mouthed his bare skin, licking a wet trail down.

I didn't drop the weight, not with him leaning on it for balance, but it was a close thing as I felt my limbs grow heavy and weak. I bit my lip, squeezed my eyes shut and got myself back on track. I reestablished my hold on the ram, feeling as if at that point it was mostly staying in place on its own. He had already hooked up the chain.

"How long am I holding this?" I forced out once I'd made myself calm down most of the way.

"Almost done." He glanced back over the ram. Tony motioned for me to let the ram go and it hung perfectly balanced on the chain he had attached to the edge. Fixed. Idly, he pushed it with his fingers and it swayed a little while we watched. 

I was mostly watching him. The sunshine softened the dark color of his hair, and I wondered what it would be like to touch it. I probably wouldn't ever find out, but at that moment it was alright that we'd stand next to each other ― almost close enough to touch but not touching, and he would never know how I felt. He hadn't found out thus far. Maybe he wasn't supposed to know. Maybe this was how it would always be: the silence on my end ensuring we didn't have to make any difficult decisions.

Sharon had phoned me earlier. She sounded like she missed me, but she called already knowing I was emotionally unavailable, and that whatever brief romance we had between us had fizzled out into nothing. She wanted me to think about a job with the CIA, in Europe, alongside her. It was on a consulting basis. The network I had formed while operating from Wakanda was a good way to accomplish certain mission objectives she was not at liberty to share unless I agreed. The time-horizon was for two months away. I couldn't give any definitive answer, so I told her I needed to think about it. Maybe this was what I was supposed to do to make things right: try to stay away from him until my feelings cooled. I told myself to keep my options open, but lying in bed that night I dreaded the idea, as memories of isolation and loneliness clung on.

I didn't want to go to Berlin, or anywhere else for that matter. I wanted to stay here. As long as I kept my mouth shut, there was no reason I couldn't.

Tony glanced down my way, and his expression turned a touch confused. The silence became awkward. 

Ignoring the strange ache in my chest, I lowered my eyes, and they once again slid over his bare abdomen, the edge of the scar there. "How is your―." I stumbled over the words, motioning to the side of his torso. "It doesn't hurt?"

Tony yanked his shirt down with a frustrated jerk of his hand, covering the skin. "I'm fine." Another dollop of silence. "Did you want something?"

There are times in your life when you have to go for it, to take a risk. I knew that. In another life this might have been that moment where I put an arm around his waist, pulled him down off the platform and into my arms. I would have made my confessions first with words and then with my lips.

I let the potential moment slip away. It was alright. It hurt, but that was just how it felt to be in love.

"Does this need a test run?" I rapped my knuckles against the side the ram.

He stared my way for a long moment. Tony knew I wasn't telling him something, and with our history I knew the flash of resentment in his eyes was justified. It was still better than the alternative, I told myself. This bought me a little more time.  


 

* * *

 

"So help me understand this," he barked without a preamble, walking into my room two days later. 

I slammed my book shut and sat up on my bed. Tony hadn't knocked, and that was the first time to my knowledge that he'd ever overridden security codes keeping all our personal spaces private. His hands were behind his back, shoulders tense. My blood surged with fight-or-flight instinct as he looked down at me, and I quickly got up off the bed. 

"Tony?" 

By then he was circling to stand next to the bed, rolling through his next words. 

"Why do I always find out from some video?" he said, eyes hard. "Why is it so difficult for you people to say something to my face, huh?"

"What are you talking about?" I said, temporizing. I had a bad feeling I knew what he was talking about.

He took one hand out from behind his back and in it was a tablet with a newspaper article headline. He squinted at it for a moment, and before he said another word I could recognize the picture Peter had taken the day before. Captain America: After the Fighting Is Over. They must have rushed the article. 

"I read your little tête-à-tête. Well-done, points for slipping in that reference to the senator, they'll chase him for weeks. And Peter did a good job." His words were precisely enunciated; he was pissed. Nothing in that article could have angered him, I'd kept things warmly professional. Like I should have done before. I tried to steel myself for what I knew was coming, carefully moving away from the bed. 

He took a step to the side, and I took a step the opposite way almost subconsciously mirroring his move, getting a fiery glare from his dark eyes for that little admission of mistrust.

"I haven't read it yet," I reached out with a hand, but he dropped the tablet on the bed, instead of handing it to me. Slowly, I withdrew my hand.

"I got curious about the reaction, went to check it out. That was weird." I saw his hand clench into a fist at his side, white and trembling a little. "Half the country seems to think you're in love with me. Care to comment?"

I always knew he'd find out, but somehow I thought I'd have more time to prepare.

"Nothing?" Tony said into the silence. "You're just gonna stand there, Rogers?"

My mouth was completely dry. "What do you want me to say?"

Tony's eyes widened comically. It was as if he expected me to have an excuse. Any other explanation than the simplest one. He'd have more easily accepted a laugh at the suggestion, me giving him a hard time and a hundred reasons why it couldn't be true: I wasn't into guys, I wasn't interested, I wasn't into him, we could laugh about it later. Even though he'd seen the evidence, he'd found ways to convince himself that wasn't real. The cell-phone video of me looking distraught while the medics carried him away was a typical reaction for a teammate. When I said I had feelings for him to that reporter, I meant as a friend. Ha ha. Funny. 

"Don't just stand there!" Tony said, voice hitching strangely. "Say something!"

What a disaster. I straightened my shoulders. I was lying to him with my calm, reassuring voice, the careful body-language meant to set him at ease even as I grew colder and colder on the inside. "Nothing has to change. I've got it under control."

"Hah," he breathed, a shaky noise trying to be a laugh. I shifted foot to foot, clamping down on any reaction.

Tony's eyes suddenly flickered up and down my body, in a way they _never_ had before. Heat raced up my spine. 

"You _want_ me _?_ " he whispered, like it was a cardinal sin on my part.

Deep down I needed him to know. "I love you."

His lost eyes would stay in my memory forever. I gave him time to realize I meant it. That I wouldn't take it back.

Then Tony shook his head. "This isn't happening." Okay. When I didn't protest, he added, rushing to erect barricades with words around himself: "I'm getting married. To Pepper."

"We can be friends, can't we?" I hated the weakness in my voice.

"I don't know, can we?"

Numb from head to toe I told him I had to get dressed to meet the others. True enough, we had planned practice at the gym. I went to grab my uniform from where it lay folded on a chair. "Think about it, then we'll talk," I said and went to the bathroom behind me, locking the door. Underneath the cold rush of water in the shower I tried to sink deeper into the numb pit inside. 

By the time I came back out, dressed ― he had left.  


 


	3. Chapter 3

 

I couldn't focus. Natasha knocked my feet out from under me three times before she frowned, giving me a hand up from the damp mat and asking, "You alright?"

"Fine." My calves were smarting. I kept missing easy kicks and punches. It had been the same with Sam the hour before, until he threw his hands up and left, muttering something about me being impossible.

Her sharp eyes assessed me with a look and missed nothing. "Your heart's not in it. Do you want to take a break?"

"No, I want to do this. Let's go." I stepped into a defensive position and after a moment she prepared herself for attack.

A minute later I was on my back on the mat again, the point of her elbow at my neck. I winced and had to look away.

Natasha rose gracefully, but didn't offer me a hand up this time, just looked thoughtful with a hand on her hip. "Give yourself a break, Steve." Her voice was soft; a friend's voice. "Something's wrong, even if you won't admit it." I rolled over and got to my knees before rising, keeping my back to her for a moment while I caught my breath. A moment of hesitation lingered before she offered, "...Want to talk about it?" 

I respected how hard it was for her to be open with her concern and turned to face her. "Just. Distracted today." 

"Not only today. I've got eyes, you know." 

"And what do your eyes tell you?" Challenging her was probably a symptom of how out of it I was.

Natasha pursed her lips for a moment. "That if we had to Assemble right now, you'd be too busy nursing your broken heart to make the right call." She saw the blow land and tried to soften her words. "You know how this works, Steve. Distraction has no place on the job." I knew. I remembered Lagos.

What was I supposed to say? That I was trying? Natasha didn't want an excuse. She wanted her team leader to get his head on straight.

"I'll get it together," I promised her in my best Captain America voice. I knew I had to, or I couldn't keep doing my job, and that was something I couldn't give up. The memory of Sharon's pitch to go work alongside CIA in Europe rose up in my mind, but letting distance take the edge off my feelings for him felt too much like running away.

"Have you tried talking about it?" Natasha said, slipping back from a concerned teammate to a friend. My breath caught from exertion. That was surely it. It couldn't be the flash of memory: Tony's face this morning when I told him. 

"I have. That's kind of the problem." I tried for a smile, it came out as a wince.

"Ah. Sorry."

This time I did manage a wan smile. "Me too."  


 

* * *

 

I thought I was done with hoping for the phone to ring, but for the rest of the day I kept wondering if that would be how he'd choose to talk to me if and when he did. I told Nat and Bucky to go ahead into the city without me, I was staying home. I wanted to be available. All day I hung around the common areas hoping that when Tony was done in his workshop or wherever he locked himself up, he'd come around and we might talk. Tony never showed his face.

Late into the night I lay in bed, my arm thrown over my face, waiting. In case he would call. In case FRIDAY alerted me he wanted to talk. I fell asleep like that.

Friday evening, I changed my mind about wanting to see him, because Pepper arrived by taxi, fresh off her plane from California. I'd put it out of my mind that she was coming for the weekend, and Tony would want to spend as much time with her as possible before she had to go back, instead of worrying about my ill-timed confessions.

Sam and I were by the front door and heading outside when her taxi pulled up, the driver depositing her neat metallic suitcase by her heeled feet while she tipped him. Pepper smiled and chatted with us for a minute: mostly with Sam. She seemed calm and centered after time away in California, in contrast to the last time I'd seen her. Looking at her face, full of anticipation over seeing Tony, filled me with guilt. 

I was relieved when she seemed ready to move on and let us be on our way, until she asked FRIDAY, "Where is Tony?"

"Tokyo," FRIDAY answered promptly.

" _What?_ " 

We exchanged glances behind Pepper's back while she stood frozen in full-body surprise. 

"When did he leave?" Pepper's bafflement was obvious.

"Four a.m. last night," FRIDAY said.

"Did he take the suit? Because that's..." Sam looked at me, concerned. I could only mirror his look.

"Boss cannot pilot Iron Man armor safely because of the healing injury. He took a jet."

Pepper's eyes roamed the room. "I can't even―." Then she shook her head and pulled out her personal phone. "Excuse me, please," she told us, lifting a finger and squinting. The phone mustn't have rung for long before she was saying, "Tony? What are you doing in Japan?" She started to head towards their rooms, taking her suitcase with her.

Whatever he said, evidently didn't satisfy her, because Pepper sounded frustrated. "I though we had plans."

The last thing I overheard before she turned the corner and disappeared from view was, "No, you did not call, I would have known not to get on a plane from _California_ if you had called―"

Sam was quiet while we made our way outside, but only for so long.

"That must have been an extremely urgent trip for him to leave at the crack of dawn," he said. "Did you know about it?"

I told Sam I had no idea, but I couldn't help wondering how much Tony wanted to be as far away from me as possible.  


 

* * *

 

Tony came back at the end of the weekend. 

I'd mostly stayed out of everyone's way, especially Pepper's, while he was gone. Sunday morning I was working on my bike, in one of the rooms on the outskirts of the compound that felt like a cross between a tool-shed and a garage with a door wide enough to let a car through. I'd had to carry my bike there because it refused to run, and I was sitting on the floor in my old torn jeans, puzzling things out, with the door open to let in some natural light.

At the time, I stared at the black-and-white wiring diagram for the innards, wondering if the dashed and dotted line corresponded to the yellow wire in my hand. I'd gotten through replacing the drive chain with relatively little pain, but this part had been frustrating me for the best part of the last half-hour as I tried to puzzle out which wire went where. I'd tested the wires and replaced the burnt one earlier, but in the process of repair somehow disabled one of the gauge sensors. Just about ready to bang my head against the metal wheel cover, I slumped where I sat on the floor.

Then I felt my neck prickle with the sensation of being watched and twisted around. Tony was sitting on the round swivel chair behind me, with his chin resting on his folded arm on the worktable. He had a somewhat sleepy expression on his face, with a miles-long stare, as if lost in thought.

When our eyes met, he lifted his head from his arm, straightening his posture.

"How―How long have you been here?" I wiped my grimy hand on my jeans, straightening my t-shirt where it rode up. I beat down the ridiculous urge to run a hand through my hair. Nobody ever came to this part of the compound by accident, so he was here for me.

Not answering, Tony shrugged and got up. His expensive suit looked a bit more rumpled than usual, and he'd tugged the red silk tie loose, but otherwise he looked the very picture of a businessman, at odds with the dusty environment in the garage. Before I knew what he was doing, he strode over to me and crouched, suit hugging his thighs and knees, as he held out a hand to me. Curiosity mixed with frustration was getting the better of me, so I handed him the wire.

He glanced over the bike's innards, frowned, pulled out two more wires and swapped them with the one I'd been dealing with. The whole thing took about twenty seconds, including the time to frown. Tony never glanced at the wiring diagram lying between us.

"You had them swapped," he explained, with no particular inflection, just flat.

"Oh."

He stood and backed up. "Try it. Should be good to go."

I rolled to my feet and threw my leg over the seat of the bike, turning the key to start it. The engine purred to life. The lights and gauges looked normal. When I glanced up from the dashboard, Tony was leaning against a wooden table a few feet away, his arms crossed while he watched.

"Yeah," I said, fighting a relieved smile. "Thanks." I got back off the bike to face him while we talked.

"Don't mention it." 

"Did you just come back?" Now that I thought about it, the flight from Asia and the accompanying jet-lag probably explained his rumpled look. I tried not to wonder how long he'd been watching me scratch my head over the wiring.

"Yeah." He fidgeted, glancing back in the direction of the main building. "Gotta drive Pepper to the airport in a few hours. It's back to work on Monday. She is packing."

"She seemed... surprised to find you had left without saying anything to anyone."

That seemed to be our pattern: fight or flight instinct taking over. I wondered what would happen if we would just stop. Sometimes I thought he was just as afraid as I was to find out the answer. Other times I realized I was forcing a choice on him he shouldn't have to make. This wasn't fair.

"Look," I said, while he looked conflicted, "I could go."

His eyes shot to my face. Like a tiger: suddenly awakening. The focus in their dark depths was completely different from a minute ago.

"I've got an invitation to Berlin. A Joint Terrorism Task Force." As I spoke, he said nothing. I took a shaky breath, willing myself to stay collected. "Sharon Carter is the CIA contact. It would be a few months away from here." _From you_ , I didn't say, but he heard it without a doubt. "I think it could give me some... clarity."

"Is that what you want?" He couldn't pick just one emotion at the news, they all mixed together in his eyes. He did not look happy. Tony always seemed so put together, but he looked rattled now. He came back from the hospital after a serious injury looking less flustered than he had at the suggestion that I had feelings for him. Why was that? 

No matter how much I searched his face, I couldn't find the right answer. "What I want and what I need aren't the same thing."

"What is it you want, huh?" His voice was flinty, but his eyes gave him away as usual. He cared too much to pull off indifference. Tony wanted to fix this the same way he'd fixed my bike, with an easy application of his brilliant intellect. "I can't leave Pepper. I can't let her down. I can't give you anything―"

"I didn't ask you to!" 

"If I thought you were after sex, I'd tell you to find a scrappy brunette and fuck this out of your system."

I clenched my jaw. Tony looked abashed, but a second later he lifted his chin like he was daring me to call him out on it. Tension thrummed through his body. I could see it and it was raising my hackles up.

I wasn't one to back down once I'd picked my path. "When I say I care about you, it's not because I want something from you. Is it really so hard to believe?"

Gruffly, "A little hard to wrap my head around, yeah."

So that was how it was. "I don't need you to love me back," I told him. Tony flinched as if I slapped him across the face with it. "I don't say it to get something in return and it's not—" I grasped for the right words. "It's not that I'm lonely or want companionship, although it's true and I do. I understand that we can't be together. You don't want that, and my feelings aren't conditional on what I get from you. Maybe I get over it with time, maybe I don't. But that's not on you; that's for me to figure out."

Into the long silence after my words Tony said, contemplative, "That easy..."

I frowned. "You're outta your mind if you think this is easy."

"You make it look easy," he said under his breath, then quick as lightning, he went on attack: "I— I'm _astonished_ by this turn of events," He spread his hands in a questioning pose, palms up. A laugh caught in his throat. "Not that long ago you didn't trust me as far as you could throw me. Now, _love_?" He shoved his hands into his pant pockets and clenched them into fists.

"I've made mistakes. But not because I didn't care, Tony."

"Saw that. Online," he said, chin jerking in a nod. "That just makes me feel so goddamn stupid. If you're so in love, how come I'm the last to know?" As always it wasn't enough for him that something _was_ , he wanted to know when, why and how. He drove me crazy. 

"I'm sorry you had to find out this way. I should have been more upfront. I―I wasn't able to show it."

"Story of my life, right?" Tony said. " _Dad_ didn't know how to show it. I suppose he loved me. If it wasn't for the video he left me, he'd have taken that little factoid to the grave." 

"You're better than me at showing that you care. Braver," I admitted after a tough swallow. "Even when we fight, I always see how much you care, Tony." I could see it now when he strode over to me. Just walked right up to close like he had been back then, when he found out the awful truth about his parents, and thrown emotionally off-kilter for an entirely different reason. His eyes truly were windows to the soul. They were _so_ beautiful. "I don't think you know how rare that is."

"For all the good it does. Look what happened." His voice was all over the place with emotion. "I came after you to help." I froze up; we were talking about _that!_ "I thought you needed me if you were to face five supersoldiers at once."

How happy it had made me, to see him then. To know that no law, no argument, no government could pull us apart. Only we ourselves could do that.

"I know," I said quietly, sorrowfully. 

He sounded wrecked. "I wanted to be there for you when you needed me!" 

"I know, Tony." I put my hand on his shoulder. He jerked slightly in place, but didn't move away from my hold. I took it as a small victory. No, not victory. We were done fighting. I took it as a comfort that he didn't back away from my touch. 

He was trembling faintly with the effort to keep still, bursting with everything he had to say after years of keeping a lid on things, pretending everything was alright while the hurt festered underneath. I had to help him to get these things out in the open, because I realized suddenly it wasn't that he didn't believe I loved him. It was that he did, and didn't know what to do about it. He had to make sense of the past with this new understanding, and it shook his worldview. Tony kept trying to walk around the fact, figure out a way in which my words couldn't be true. And he had that furious, cornered look to him. I hated that I knew that look. I didn't know what to do about it either.

I kept my hand on his shoulder, careful not to hold on too tight. I was so close, standing on the precipice of something unknown, and he was pushing, pushing until I would eventually fall over. I knew it the way a hooked fish knows it's being reeled in.

Tony's eyes didn't stray from my face. The dam broke, words spilled from his mouth, all the things we'd not talked about because it was overwhelming to even think it. "I was ready to admit I was wrong, to throw away everything I worked for: _for you!_ " He seemed to almost collapse in on himself for a moment, shoulders hunching briefly before he made himself stand up straight, eyes locked with mine. Tony's voice dropped to an earnest whisper, "And then―Okay, yeah, I lost it with Barnes. _I'm sorry._ I wish that―that I could take it back, undo it all. With that tape in my face, I couldn't― I―. With the way _you_ went against me at every turn!" he suddenly snarled.

"I know," I whispered. Trying to absorb his words, to let them pass through me and to stay steady for him, to just _take it_ , was so damn hard.

"And you walked away. You left, but I picked myself up, and I was fine. I was okay!" We were alone and almost nose to nose, but he was shouting. A moment later, his voice dropped low, as if exhausted by the emotion. 

"And you go and do this to me," he said, eyes suddenly glassy. "You've got everything so tightly screwed down, I have no idea what's going on with you. Okay, so I deal. Then you say you love me. What am I supposed to _do_ now? I can't think. I can't! But _you_ ―You've got your emotions in perfect order, everything's so tidy and neat. I could scream!"

I felt helpless; like a spec at the mercy of an ocean, his words battering me, rolling over me like waves. Even though I loved him, I kept hurting him. I needed him to tell me how to stop. To tell me what to do. I didn't know anymore.

"Tony, what do you want?" My heart hurt, beating madly in my chest, burning. "Want me to act like a love-sick fool around you? Would that make you feel better? Because I'm just trying to do what's right! And I'm trying to act normal. To act―"

"How are you so okay? You just throw it out of your mind? Get rid of it? Just move on―"

"I thought that would make you happy!"

"―Run to Berlin or whatever! Leave already!" He put his hands on my chest and shoved, even having to know I wouldn't budge. Seeing the ineffectiveness of his push just made him growl, shove harder and harder, until I caught him by the wrists, to hold him in place.

"I don't want that!" 

Tony didn't struggle against my hold, not even a little, although he knew how to get out of a bind. He was _letting_ this happen, and the look in his eyes made it impossible for me to do what I knew was the right thing. My chest was burning and so were my eyes. 

"―I'm sure Carter will take you back and you can stop torturing me―"

"This is killing me!" I managed to bark, close to tears.

"I thought you had everything under control!" he yelled back.

I yanked him towards me and he fell against my chest with a startled oof. "I'm gonna kiss you, Tony," I said against his lips. He made an anxious sound, little more than a breath against my mouth, before I did.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

I had imagined kissing him, but fantasies were pale shadows compared to the real thing. I lost myself in the feel of his warm lips against mine, his tongue, as the kiss became instantly open mouthed, sucking me in. We separated for less than a breath so Tony could change the tilt of his head before our mouths were locked together in the next intense burst of a kiss. 

And again, he shifted his mouth against mine looking for a better angle. Tony kissed like he had to pause to believe each brush of our lips and tongues was real. Each kiss grew longer and more enduring, each kiss was a question answered. A revelation. 

I'd expected Tony to be good at kissing, but these kisses held little promised finesse, making up for it with near trembling fervor. His nose mushed against my cheek, the hunger in the way he clung to me making me shiver, our closeness letting me feel him shiver in response. It felt so good to be kissing him. I had one hand around his body pressing him to mine, from the chest to the knees, and one of his hands slid over my shoulder to lay on the nape of my neck, directing my head to find the sweetest angle.

We were supposed to be talking it out, we _needed_ to talk. Another spine-melting kiss convinced me that kissing Tony and having Tony kiss me back was its own conversation, and it was the best one we'd had yet. I knew exactly what he was feeling, because I felt the same thing, that this was what we were _meant_ to be doing. In the back of my head a klaxon of alarm sounded and was swiftly quieted under the sweep of his hot mouth. How could we deny ourselves something so good, so right? 

"I can't," he mumbled into the kiss. Another lingering moment before he shoved me away, and this time I let him. "I can't," he repeated, trembling a foot away from me, with his mouth wet and flushed from our kisses. I felt the beard-burn on my face and didn't care.

"Tony." How could I explain to him that he could, he _had to_ , because I was meant for this. I was meant to be kissing him. And he was meant for me.

"I have Pepper," he said, with a wide-eyed blink. He swallowed. "I love Pepper," he corrected himself, uncertainly.

A flash of hurt cut through my heart, panic welling. He couldn't take this kiss away from me. He couldn't, because I needed it. But Tony continued to look at me like with every second of intellect returning, it was dawning on him what we'd done, how wrong it was. That _I_ was wrong. I knew that, knew it, and I still wanted this kiss to be _ours_.

"You shouldn't have done that," Tony said, like he hadn't been pressing up against me just seconds ago with everything he had. My skin still tingled from his touch.

"Be honest. You kissed me back," I spat out. 

"I was— I was trying—"

"To _what_? Crawl inside my mouth?" I felt the burning in my eyes return at the flustered look on his face. "Because you knew how I felt about you! And you still came here." Even as I said it, I thought it was my fault. I kissed him.

"I was out of my head," Tony protested, voice thick with feeling. "I came here to talk."

I couldn't look at him anymore, my chest crackling with hurt or maybe betrayal. I knew what came next: he told me it meant nothing. I couldn't let him say the words I felt hovering in the air; it would hurt too much.

"Fine," I said, trying to force my voice to be strong and hearing the crack in it. "Let's take some time to calm down. We can talk later."

I turned around and went for my bike. I needed to be alone. If I stayed another minute, I would do something I regretted. The truth was it didn't matter if he cared about me, not if he still wanted to get married to Pepper. I had to keep that thought fixed in my head; it was too easy to slip into thinking this was okay. It wasn't.

"Steve?"

The world was blurring. My heart quickened another notch at his coming closer, even as I kicked the stand off and revved the engine of the bike.

Tony was saying, "Wait! You'll crash, you can't ride like this."

"Just let me go," I turned my face away so I wouldn't be looking at him. "Don't follow me."

When I peeled out of there with a squeal of tires on cement, he ran a couple of steps after me. With the wind in my face I didn't hear anything he called out in my wake.  


 

* * *

 

I lost some time. 

When I lit out of there, like a bat out of hell, I'd had no clear destination except to get away, _remove_ myself.

Thoughts chased one another in my head. How I had to be a bigger man about what happened, how I had to put a stop to it. I had to. It was the right thing to do. This thing I was letting take me over would hurt Pepper, the team, and Tony. I couldn't let that happen.

I wanted to find that center of cold that would let me look at the situation calmly, but it kept slipping out of my grasp. I couldn't slide into the analytical mindset, couldn't pull up the wherewithal to examine everything carefully, give each event exactly the amount of consideration it deserved. We kissed. In the grand scheme of things, it was something trivial, unimportant. 

It meant everything to me.

Thoughts and emotions shot through my body, one barreling over another. The way Tony had felt, held in my arms. The glimmer of ...something in his eyes that whispered sweetly to me, sang with a thrilling promise.

Dangerous. 

That was Tony Stark, in a word. 

I drove for a bit longer, still feeling him everywhere he touched me.

Remembering his fingers in my hair and the taste of his mouth tinged with coffee. His spicy cologne. The hot press of his body to mine.

I had to pull over onto the curb of a deserted roadway. I felt sick with shame. What kind of a man was I? As the rumble of the motorcycle engine faded out into a hollow silence, I stared ahead, unseeing. And within the memory of our kiss I still wanted to keep, despite everything, I had my answer, didn't I? The longer I was away from his presence the more I understood the magnitude, the sheer wrongness of what I'd done. 

My morals, my values, I'd betrayed them entirely. A word, a soft look from him couldn't mean more to me than so many rules and principles I lived by. He was engaged. I had no right to think about him like this.

Hours, minutes later while I sat on the side of the road in the hard saddle of my bike, my phone rang, and I fumbled to pick it up. But it wasn't Tony.

"Steve?" Bucky's serious voice came across the line.

I could have handled Sam better. I could keep it together in front of Sam; Bucky knew me too well.

"Yeah."

"What's wrong?" A note in his voice sharpened.

"Nothing." _Everything._

And suddenly I knew.

I'd lost Tony for good. I could never be around him, not in any real sense, not after what happened. We could never have any true closeness between us again. The temptation would be too great. I would always want to kiss him, and hold him, and always have to hold myself back. What happened could never happen again because it was wrong. My body shook with loss.

"Steve." 

All I could do was hold back a pathetic weeping sound as tears tracked down my face. 

I pressed a palm to my mouth. 

"What happened, Steve?" Bucky asked. I couldn't explain myself. I was supposed to be stronger than this. "Stark said to check on you. What did he do to you?"

Tony only made me fall in love with him. The rest I'd done on my own.

Even so, hearing Bucky say that Tony came to him about me, eased some of the unbearable pressure in my chest. I could breathe a little more easily.

Quietly, I wiped away at my face. 

When I could speak again, I whispered, "I'm fine. What did Tony— say?"

"Just that you needed a friend." I could hear Bucky's frown. I saw it in my mind's eye: Tony still trying to make it better somehow. The temptation to turn my bike around and go back to Tony, tell him I _knew_ he loved me, was overwhelming my ability to resist, crushing me. A shuddering sigh worked its way out of my chest. Bucky asked, "Where are you?"

"Don't know," I mumbled, I looked around at the empty road. Not far enough away. Somewhere half-way to Brooklyn. I took another deep breath. "I need to check into a hotel."

"What?"

"I can't come back. Not tonight."

After a moment, Bucky asked, "Want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"Because I think you need to talk about it," he insisted.

I couldn't. Not with Bucky. It was all kinds of screwed up because he was the best friend I ever had, he'd had my back when I was nothing, but when it came to Tony Stark I _couldn't_ talk to him. I couldn't explain how I still wanted to kiss Tony, to touch him, just _be_ with him. How I could never be satisfied with being just friends. I couldn't listen to Bucky get upset on my behalf, because none of that was Tony's fault. It was my fault, my problem.

I told Bucky I'd be okay, and that I would make it back to the compound tomorrow. Then I hung up on his objection.

Somehow I made it to a road-side inn and checked myself in, stumbling through the motions. I washed up on autopilot and, still in my clothes, collapsed onto the hotel bed.

Tony getting married was the bitter cure. If I could see him be happy with Pepper, then I would stop wondering what it would be like to be with him. I would feel relief and a kind of validation if he was happy, even if it wasn't with me. I had to believe that. 

Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I stared at his blurry name in the contact list. 

I fell asleep like that.  


 

* * *

 

When I went out to the hotel's parking lot at dawn the next morning, Sam was napping in the driver seat of a white pickup truck where I'd parked. Alarmingly, he had already stowed my bike in the back of his car.

Surrendering to what was about to happen with a sigh, I opened the passenger door and slid silently into the seat next to him.

Slowly, Sam opened his eyes and glanced my way. Then he looked away and for a while we just sat there in companionable silence.

"I kissed Tony," I mumbled. "We kissed."

Sam gave a low whistle. "That explains his looks."

I felt a blush crawl up my neck.

"Did—Did Pepper—?"

"Don't think so," Sam picked up on my concern. "Stark got himself in order and hovered over her all the way to the car. Don't think she could tell _what_ he felt guilty about. She flew back to California and he locked himself in his workshop."

"Okay," I took a breath. I gave a nod to the steering wheel, meaning Sam could drive us back to the Compound. I was ready. I had to be, didn't I?

Still, Sam wouldn't turn the key in the engine. I could tell he had something on his mind. I looked out of the car window, at the grey morning outside. A brand new day; one of many ahead. 

"So everything's fucked up between you two again, is what I'm getting from this brooding silence," Sam said, turning to me. "There was this entire week when I thought things might actually be working."

"I'm sorry," I whispered. This had already affected the team. Of course it had. I'd been so up in my head, I hadn't noticed. I wanted to curl up and make myself smaller. "I screwed up."

Sam was gripping the steering wheel in his hands. "Takes two to tango, am I right? When you guys...went at it..." Sam winced and barreled forward, "Kissed, whatever. Was he into it?"

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

After a bit, Sam let out a long exasperated sigh. "Okay. So then. What are you gonna do about it?" 

I looked over at him, shocked. "What?" I'd expected a little disgust, a rebuke, not this.

"This is _not_ the time for this game you two like to play," Sam said. "Who blinks first."

"Pretty sure I blinked," I admitted sorrowfully.

Sam paused. After a moment, he said carefully, "And he doesn't return your feelings?"

"He's getting married to Pepper, what does that tell you?" I snapped, suddenly finding my anger.

"It tells me he's screwed up in the head," Sam said flatly. "Or his heart. I've only been around him a little while and I can tell he thinks you hung the moon." Sam lifted his hands in the air in bafflement. "You saw how mad he gets when you refuse to pay attention to him? Nothing gets his hackles up like the thought that you might like someone else better than him. As long as he's got Pepper tucked safely away somewhere he's fine; it's like he doesn't even think about her. But you. Oh no, you _bother_ him. You get him hot around the collar, you know what I'm saying?"

"I wish you wouldn't."

"So you can go back to being like the living dead again? Because I've had my fill of that in Wakanda. This is the most alive I've seen you in a long time. You know this, Steve. Stark has no business getting hitched to anyone else. You two are the worst at dealing with warm, squishy feelings, or you'd see that instantly."

"What I see," I answered wearily, "is he's engaged. To someone else." I shot Sam a pained, angry look. He didn't seem to understand how hard I was working at keeping hope at bay. 

"So make him change his mind! Let this martyr bullshit go. I want you to be happy, man."

I was already stretched pretty thin, I didn't need this on top of it. "Breaking up their relationship won't make me happy, Sam."

"Look, just... Talk to him—"

"No," I said.

"But you—"

"No."

Shaking his head, Sam put his hands up in surrender. 

He drove us back to the compound, with me staring out the passenger window at the passing scenery, registering none of it. The whole way home I tried to brush away thoughts of Tony, and what I had to say when I saw him again. It was early, just past dawn, and Tony didn't get up at this hour, but I knew I would have to see him eventually.

Turned out I had to face him a lot sooner than expected, because when we got to the Avengers compound, his orange Audi stood parked out front, with Tony leaning back against the driver's door, watching us drive in.  


 

* * *

 

"Talk to him," Sam prodded quietly when we parked, just a little ways from where Tony leaned against his car, hands in his pockets. He wore a dark double-breasted suit and a deep blue tie. Sunglasses covered his eyes.

Wearily steeling myself, I climbed out of the passenger seat. Sam jumped out as well, far more energetically, and nodded hello at Tony. He got a silent nod back, before Sam shot me another look and proceeded inside the compound, leaving the two of us standing there in silence, like a Mexican standoff.

Tony took his sunglasses off.

Pictures didn't do him justice. His dark hair was styled back, his suit pristine and perfectly tailored. He wore it like armor. There was a permanent tiredness etched into his face, in the tension around the mouth, and his eyes were equal parts wariness and vulnerability.

Looking at him made everything clearer.

"I was just leaving, I wasn't waiting up for you," he said, almost conversationally, "but we should talk."

"Okay..." I hesitated. "Now?"

"No, I—There's a thing." Tony made a complicated face, just shy of a wince. "It's important, or I'd skip it."

"That's fine." Something subtle had shifted in the air since last time, and for a moment I puzzled over the difference. 

"There's a new science lab opening today, at a high-school in the city," he added quickly, apologetic defiance his voice. "I'm sponsoring it. I have to be there. The kids, you know. I promised—"

"I said it's okay, Tony."

"Okay. Well, I'll go make a speech." He shifted, so he was no longer leaning against the door, one hand reaching to unlock it. "I'll see you later? Tonight?"

Suddenly I saw it: the absence of something. That buddy-buddy who-cares crap he was doing with me before, where we laughed at things that weren't very funny and patted each other on the back before going our separate ways. That was gone. I could see how important it was for him to get my agreement. The sweet tension sang between us again, and I loved it, I _reveled_ in it. Because this was _us_ , and Tony was fully here with me, in the moment. 

The emotion was too overwhelming. Immediately, I shied away from it. Feeling this immense connection with him was precisely the problem. I needed to put an end to this thing between us. The longer it went on, the worse it would get. Glancing back at the empty road traveling out of the compound, almost as if checking that it was still at my back, I marshaled my thoughts.

In his earlier spiel, Sam had hit upon one character trait that I already knew about: Tony liked to be the center of attention. He was flattered by my feelings. The more I fed into his need for affection, the more he'd want to humour me, while we pushed and pulled each other into an untenable situation.

"Sure." I cleared my throat, blanking my face. "Sounds good."

Suddenly, I wanted to call Pepper and ask her to come back and _stay_ here. She was always away. I barely ever saw them together. Probably a modern romance thing I didn't understand. Tony and Pepper were both busy people. Stark Industries was her life. However strange it seemed to me, this was obviously how they wanted to run their relationship. 

I was hardly an expert on the matter; after losing Peggy, my longest relationship had been with Sharon, and that had felt more like a series of disconnected dates that grew increasingly further apart. Our assignations had been dominated by exchange of information we both had to pass on to one another, rather than any particular intimacies, and snatched kisses had seemed like exciting promises of more, later, always _later._ Passed off as less important until we couldn't fit into each other's separate worlds anymore. Sharon had tried half-heartedly to rekindle our connection after the writing was already on the wall. Maybe I had been sublimating my feelings for Tony into that non-relationship, because once I knew where my heart lay, how much I wanted him, I rarely thought about Sharon anymore, except accompanied by vague feelings of guilt for never having been able to give her more of myself. I'd never wanted to. I hadn't loved her. 

Tony and I had the reverse problem. 

I loved him, and he wanted to be loved.

Tony was opening the car door when he looked back at me, again, stilling. My skin burned, a path of fire wherever his eyes landed. I knew the moment he decided to keep talking to me, even though he was supposed to have left already, like he couldn't help himself.

"You rushed out of here yesterday, and all I could think was you might break your neck."

Startled, I recalled that he had gone to Bucky, to have him check in on me. I would have survived a car crash, and Tony knew that logically, but what did logic have to do with this? I knew his heart. I understood his fears; they reflected my own. Before I opened my mouth to speak, he was talking again.

"I just want you to understand," Tony spoke softly but firmly. His fingers clenched the half-open orange door between us like a shield. He wore his trauma like armor too, a prickly, thorny outer shell. "You left me behind before I could— before I had any _chance_ —" His eyes flickered to the side, lost for a second before they met mine again and I felt like I could spontaneously combust under his stare. "I don't want to experience that again." He briefly shut his eyes, the slow blink against the memory, looking almost sweetly pained. "But still, I respected that you asked me not to go after you."

I nodded thanks. There was a fine sheen of sweat at his temples. I tried to focus on his eyes instead, but that did not help at all. _At all_. 

"You don't get what you do to me," Tony was speaking quickly, like he was trying to get ahead of himself, ahead of his own reason telling him to stop, "at least I hope you don't, because the alternative is cruel, and you are never cruel." 

"Tony," I whispered. I was painfully aware that he was very close by and that itself was a cause for nervousness now.

"You are just being you," he spoke over my imploring tones. "All this time. Like an iceberg. You know, with the boat? I keep ramming into you with no idea what's under the surface."

Why wasn't he leaving? He should have left already.

Tony was suddenly pleading with me, "I can't work off a glimpse. I'm trying to, but you have to— you need to try, too. Or at least give me a few more data points so I can extrapolate."

I was sure I couldn't have been more obvious about where I stood. I'd confessed to him, and in the heat of the moment I'd kissed him... What the hell more did he want from me? I felt anger flare in my chest, but I tried to push it down.

I think he saw it anyway. Tony looked down at his watch, to calm down, taking the heat off me for a second. "I promised myself we wouldn't get into it now..." His quick glance up was questioning, soft again, with concern for my feelings or whatever emotion that shone through whenever he looked at me these days; a breath from offering to stay.

"You'd better go give your speech," I said, a touch curt. I wanted to cut this short before our talk turned even more emotional. Most of the time I was dealing okay, but when he got sentimental on me, I couldn't help responding in kind. Much longer and I felt like I would spill my feelings all over him.

Instead of getting riled up over the curt response, Tony only looked more nervous and concerned, like he was reading the underlying anxiety I was trying so hard to cover up. I couldn't stand it. He had to leave.

"I'll see you tonight," I insisted in reminder.

Later, I'd answer whatever questions he had and try to walk out of there with my dignity intact.

"Yeah," Tony said after a long pause. "Figure out what it is you want, and we'll talk."

He got into the driver-seat of his Audi, and slipped his sunglasses back on.

Tony drove away. Good, because I had things to do. I couldn't afford my mess of a personal life continuing to be a distraction.

No more. I'd see him later and I would be succinct, and he would calculate and plan, and try to control every detail of the situation, try to fix me, because that's what Tony Stark did, because he was always one step ahead and so much smarter than everyone. He would feel responsible. I'd tell him I was okay. I knew in his own way he was trying his damnest to take care of my feelings and, unbeknown to him, driving me crazy.

This was the result of the path I had started us on, so all I could do was see it through.  


 

* * *

 

I wasn't going to waste the rest of the morning wallowing in apprehension and guilt, so I ran my usual miles around the periphery of the compound, then made myself a quick eggs-and-vegetables breakfast. From the looks of things, Nat and Bucky were still in their room, and I didn't feel up to any further scrutiny from Sam. 

Given my plans for the day, Sam would only make fun of me anyway: it was Monday, so I had to go into the city to record those damn PSAs they always had me reading. Jim Morita was laughing at me from beyond the grave, but his grandson had turned out to be quite persistent, and I couldn't let him down. I put on my Captain America suit, to look the part of the hero for the videos. In the mirror, cowl down, the smile I gave myself was too brittle, too _caught_. Trapped by my own feelings.

I was surrounded by the things Tony had built, his walls, all of it—Tony was everywhere.

The costume I was wearing: Tony had had a hand in that too. Years-old memory of standing at parade rest in his workshop at the Tower while he talked about the details of Captain America's suit, how he'd made improvements for my safety, rose to the forefront of my mind. His fingers trailing over my elbow, a casual, careless touch that had made me shift from foot to foot, electricity racing up my spine. _Even that far back, huh?_ My smile softened, amused by that realization. We weren't even friends, then.

I couldn't let myself be swayed by the warmth hiding in those memories. The spiral of thoughts was only detrimental to any clarity of purpose I hoped to keep. I had to throw it out of my mind.

So I ran down to get my bike out of the back of Sam's truck, and set out on the road.

High-speeds cleared my head. The road out of the compound was private and didn't have any traffic. I twisted the bike's handlebar, revving the engine and roaring down the strip of asphalt, enjoying the wind resistance that let me know just how fast I was going better than a gauge ever could. 

The glint of metal on the ground didn't even register until my front wheel hit it at too many miles per hour, and I had a millisecond to lock my elbows and knees, to duck my head, bracing for impact, before the bike twisted off the intended path, tires shot. The bike flipped and the world flipped with it. My shoulder rammed into the asphalt of the road, the impact resonating through my body. I let the bike go from between my thighs and it whirled away with rattling clang of metal. I rolled on the asphalt, covering my face and head with my arms.

Getting my tumbling under control, I rolled into a crouch, blinking blood out of my eyes. Before I could orient myself, I felt a sharp piercing sting in the side of my neck. I swirled around, hand going automatically to my throat, feeling the sharp prick of multiple darts. I yanked them out as fast as I could move. Still not fast enough. 

My vision grew hazy and I stumbled, into the foot-high ditch on the side of the road, barely managing to keep on my feet. I only had an instant to think about my shield, too hard to reach in the backpack, and the trees lining the road that could serve as a cover. Heart speeding, I felt a presence behind me. By the time I turned around, there was a barrel of a gun pointed my way. 

His face was fully masked; I didn't recognize him. Fast as a blink, he pulled the trigger in a series of shots, aimed at my feet, making me fall backwards to avoid the bullets hitting the road. I lost my balance, dizzily registered asphalt rising up to meet me, and barely put a hand out in time to stop my fall. 

He was closer now. I struck out with a foot at his nearest leg, hearing his pained grunt as he stumbled back. The effort was enough to make me lose my focus completely. On the ground now, I felt my vision tunneling out. His masked face swam before my eyes as I lay gasping, limbs uncooperative.

I tried to reach for something to use as a weapon, or for my comm, but his hard boot kicked out at my temple. Then darkness.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

I knew I was alone. Cold. I woke up disoriented, uncomfortably hazy, with a lurching sensation of falling. For an instant I thought I was in the hospital: there was an oxygen mask over my face. As I drew stale air through the mask, and forced my eyes open, the blurry picture refused to resolve itself into something I could comprehend.

I was in the water.

I was floating. 

Even groggy as I was, my heart jumped in my chest. I wanted to struggle but there didn't seem to be a direct link between my intention and my limbs. A soft staticky voice said into my ear, "Do not move, Captain."

I knew that voice. Awareness slowly trickled in as I woke more fully.

"Zemo?" I said, or tried to. My tongue seemed to be glued to my mouth. The oxygen mask stuck tight to my face, a heavy tube from the center of it floating upward in clear liquid I was suspended in, disappearing into the ceiling. Thick transparent walls surrounded me on all sides. Glass or something like? And Zemo was clearly no longer imprisoned as I'd thought him to be. My head reeled and I ignored Zemo's command, trying to get my limbs to cooperate, force my arms to move. _Do something!_

That's when the ache in my shoulders registered itself, distant as if all of my senses were muffled in cotton. I realized my hands were suspended above me, shackled together and immobilized. I had barely any sensation in my arms. 

The lethargic drift of my thoughts spelled trouble.

He had drugged me. I remembered distantly the side of the road, then flashes of light as I struggled towards wakefulness, and he put me out again.

How long was I unconscious?

I forced my eyes to focus, taking in the rest of the container that held me. Through thick glass I could see a dark shape of a man, sitting in a hard chair in front of me, arms crossed. Zemo wasn't smiling.

"We meet again," his voice invaded my ears through a comm piece, with the same obsessive care he'd used back in Siberia.

I knew two things for sure: I had to get free, and this was about to get worse.

I had seen water closing over my face twice before, and both times I had made it out. Both times I'd had help. But there was nobody else here but us, alone in a large poorly-lit room. I was still in my uniform, but the leather was soaked through, unpleasant against my skin, and the wet boots dragged my feet down.

"Are you cold?" he said with a slight quiver in his voice. That wasn't fear; that was excitement, a sick kind of nervousness that shook him as he studied me through the reinforced glass.

Cold. I was freezing.

How long had I been floating in this glass tube? How long was I asleep?

"It will get colder, Captain," Zemo promised. "Cold like death. Do you remember it?"

I gathered my strength and yanked at the restraints on my hands, attempting to separate them. It was no use. Without purchase on the floor, my feet beat uselessly in the water and the thick metal encasing my wrists didn't budge. Air escaped my lungs with a heaving sob of effort, whistling against the mask over my face.

"Don't make the situation worse," Zemo cautioned, motioning with the chin as if warning me about the mask slipping. I'd realized as much myself already. The mask was fixed to my skin at the moment, but if I moved around too much, it would slip off my face and let the water in. "Watching you drown yourself isn't the plan."

Again I tried to free myself, and even through the dampening water heard an encouraging groan from the metal around my wrists, registered a shift with my side-vision outside the container as Zemo jumped to his feet and strode closer. His surprised face was turned up to watch the restraints around my wrists as they creaked.

" _Really_ ," he whispered, with some wonder. Then he shook himself and turned away. "It won't matter. You don't recognize where you are, of course. Mr. Barnes could provide you with an explanation, but he can't come to the phone right now." I startled at the mention of Bucky and stopped struggling for a moment, trying to focus on his voice. "Before modern advances in technology, James Barnes became quite familiar with a container similar to this one. A prototype for cryogenic tech your fellow agents at SHIELD used on him, over and over and over. I know exactly how much force this container will withstand. I know everything about how to freeze a super soldier." His eyes ran over my body. They looked dead. "You can spend your last waking moments struggling... In fact, I know you prefer it that way. It won't matter."

He grabbed his chair by the back, and dragged it across the floor over to the wall, leaving it there, out of the way. He was limping. I tracked his movements and tried to gather my thoughts, still muddled by the drugs, by the terrible cold. I was supposed to be able to get free!

"It is finally safe to move you out," Zemo explained. "This isn't your final resting place, Captain. That's still a long way away, a long _time_ away. Oh," he said as if in an afterthought, "I don't want to kill you. I don't want you to have that escape."

While he was talking, I resumed my struggle with the restraints. He wasn't going to stop no matter what I did; he'd picked his course a long time ago. 

"I spent two years in prison considering how to do this properly. They put me in solitary." He smirked, as if that was a boon. "All I could do was think and plan and remember. I want to make you experience what I've experienced." Zemo shook his head gloomily. "You wiggled out the last time, got to _go home_ again. I don't know how you did it; I don't care. In your arrogance you've forgotten the simplest lesson: history repeats itself. You won't escape fate. _I_ can't _,_ " he growled.

Then Zemo came closer and tapped the glass encasing me with his index finger. I thought he was listening to the frantic beating of my heart, loud in my ears. There were sensor pads on my throat, the wires stretching up into the top of the container.

"I'm going to lower the temperature now," he said, with a quiet steadiness of a man on a mission. He fiddled with a control on the side of the glass enclosure and I felt the difference almost immediately. I couldn't help a shudder running through me. 

"When they find you, frozen, decades from now, you'll remember my lesson." He splayed both palms out and pushed against the glass. "Everyone will be gone."

The container lurched slightly, making me sway, and as I tried to twist my head to look behind me, he shoved the entire glass encasement inside a metal storage container. I only had time to glance, startled, at Zemo's now smiling face before he shut the thick door with a clang, and I was plunged into darkness.

While he'd been talking, I had managed to focus on him, but now the full weight of my predicament was sinking in, like the icy cold seeping in down to my bones. I didn't know how long he'd held me captive, didn't know if my friends would be looking for me. Tony had a tracker in my shield, but the shield was no longer at my back, and I hadn't seen it in my brief glimpse of the outside. I couldn't cling to any thought of rescue.

Zemo wanted to scare me, but the unfortunate truth was it was working.

In the darkness, submerged in the icy water, steadily losing my core temperature and feeling my heart-beat slow as I gradually froze to death, I panicked.  


 

* * *

 

I was freezing.

Harsh breaths echoed in my ears, the sound amplified as the air out of my lungs hit the breathing mask stuck to my face. I tried to take courage from the needling chill. When I stopped feeling the cold, I knew I was done for.

As much as I clung to the remainder of my strength, my thoughts kept scattering in every direction in a panicked flurry. Memories of watching Bucky fall, memories of falling into the Potomac and the water rushing into my throat, mixed with the memory of driving the plane into the icy-water before consciousness receded like a far away light, winking out.

Everything around me was darkness.

Just like back then.

I had to get free. I was so cold. The cold had sapped me of strength. My whole body was starting to shiver, seemingly uncontrollably. 

Through the thick glass, through the metal enclosure around me, I could feel the slightest vibration, like an engine starting up. He was taking me to another location, likely somewhere remote where nobody would find me for a very long time.

 _Tony wouldn't stop looking_ , I realized vaguely. He wouldn't. I almost cried at the thought. I knew him. And God in Heaven, the man never left anything well enough alone. All his work to make the world a better place, his relationship with Pepper, his struggle not to turn into his father would all buckle under the burden of a quest like this. He'd waste his life on it. I didn't want that for him. 

I couldn't tell how long had passed since Zemo had closed the door. Hours, minutes. The fact that I was still conscious suggested not much time had passed. I had to get free. 

A single thought gave me strength. Zemo's glee about Bucky locked up inside one of these things, struggling and failing to break free. He'd said the enclosure was tested against a super soldier. They still didn't see. What Hydra had wasn't Bucky, or at least not all the pieces of him. Hydra had played with his mind, they'd turned him inside out, undid the man that he was. Whoever had remained in the tank, struggling to break free wasn't all of Bucky. 

And I had one advantage on the Winter Soldier. Zola had a brilliant mind, but he wasn't Erskine. The formula that coursed through my veins was a kind of miracle in itself. He'd entrusted it to me to use to protect this world, and I couldn't give up. Captain America didn't let men like Zemo win. I had to get free. I had to live.

I had a life to get back to, people counting on me. I wasn't giving in. An Avenger never did.

Gathering myself, focusing on the memory of Erskine, Peggy, all that I had lost, all my dear friends, I pulled against the restraints. They bit into my wrists, but the pain was distant.

This was it. The end of the line for me, if I didn't get out I might as well be dead.

Impossibly slowly, the metal of the cuffs twisted under the strain of my stiffening muscles. Then, with a groan, the metal crumbled along the seam and my right hand sprang free. It was a matter of another gigantic effort to pull my left hand, along with the cuff away from the metal attachment and then both my hands were free.

I reeled against the wall with momentum, metal clanging against glass, the mask I wore slipping off my face. Air was replaced with water too fast for me to draw breath.

Choking, struggling for consciousness, I grabbed the mask again and pulled it to my face, but I couldn't get rid of the water inside the apparatus and bubbles of air slid uselessly out of the tube brushing my face as they rose up to the top of the tank.

I looked up, but the cover looked to be too heavy to lift without a purchase. Without time to think this through, I pulled my tingling right arm back and rammed it as hard as I could against the glass in front of my chest. It gave a vague tremble. My lungs screamed against the lack of air. Putting my whole body into it, I threw another punch, and pressed my lips together against a howl of pain, watching streams of red rise up from my gloved fist as skin cracked. But the glass cracked too, the fracture only three inches long at most, but enough to instill a new sense of hope.

Switching hands, I rammed my fist against the enclosure again. Again. I registered the glass break at the same time as my vision darkened and the world turned over. Icy water spilled everywhere. I landed hard against the floor covered in glass, but the material of my suit protected me from the brunt of the damage. For a moment I just lay there, heaving and throwing up water, coughing. I was still inside the metal storage container, and now that I wasn't submerged in water anymore, the faint tremble I'd registered earlier became a full roar of propellers of a low-flying aircraft. We were in flight. 

Zemo was taking me to the resting place he had in mind for me.

The air outside the water tank felt too hot against my face, and my lungs were burning. I felt worse than I had felt inside the tank.

I stumbled to my feet and swayed there just as metal door rattled. Zemo, come to check on his cargo. My heart beat too fast.

With the remainder of my strength, I swung the door open hard, hitting the body behind it with enough strength to knock him back. I fell out of the container, Zemo hit the opposite wall. I couldn't stay up, all I could do was sag down to the floor. Opposite me, Zemo was staggering to his feet, but I couldn't remember what I was supposed to do next. I was clinging to coherent thought by my fingernails. A plan, an escape strategy wouldn't form. _You might as well try to touch colors_ , my mind offered dizzily. And yet there was no way out, except through. I would need a final burst of strength to save me from what I knew was coming. He'd tranq me again. Soon I'd be back inside another container. I wouldn't be able to break out a second time.

I watched Zemo reach for his belt with his hand. It felt as if he was moving very slowly as he took the gun out. Maybe he wouldn't use drugs this time, maybe he'd just shoot me to keep me down. I gathered myself for one final effort, intending to rush him, maybe knock him out if I could. Then, rather than point it at me, Zemo pointed it in the direction of the side-wall of the plane cabin.

I realized with a start that the careening floor under my feet wasn't just me. I registered a burning smell permeating the cabin. The plane gave a hard jerk, and I watched as the door was wrenched out of the wall with a heavy twang. Metal fingers curved around the opening, and I saw a familiar red-and-gold mask appear in the open air where the door used to be. 

Bullets bounced harmlessly off Iron Man's face plate. "Hey, Cap," he said, somehow soft and happy despite the electronic modulation of his speech. Completely unlike the hard clang of his metal boots on the floor as he took two steps forward and yanked Zemo by the front of his shirt, throwing him out of the plane through the ripped out doorway. Wind flapped past the empty door opening.

I stared at Tony in shock. 

He'd done it to stop Zemo from turning the gun on me, but the coldness of the gesture, coupled with seeing him towering over me again, encased in his armor, while I was on my knees, shook another memory lose. I swallowed, trying to steady my breathing.

"Oh relax," Tony said, his faceplate sliding open and disappearing into the suit behind him, revealing a feral grin. "Rhodey will catch him before he hits the water."  


 

* * *

 

Tony's next glance was towards the cockpit, but whatever he saw must have satisfied him because he turned back my way. The plane kept moving forward on autopilot. Another eternity in a moment, and Tony was suddenly closer, falling to one knee in front of me, brow furrowed. "Cap? Can I get a nod or something?"

I realized I was doing little other than staring at him from my kneeling position on the floor. Everything was happening very slowly. My thoughts moved like molasses. I had snot dripping out of my nose, and I was sitting in my own vomit, and the remains of Zemo's container. Most of the water had rushed out through the door opening, leaving remains of reinforced glass behind on the floor. We were flying low enough that the only difference the missing door made was the loud noise of the propeller coming from outside and the rush of wind. We were flying over water, and I thought I could just see the edge of the dark expanse through the opening.

A tremor ran through my whole body making Tony squint at me. His eyes lurched from item to item as he took in the insides of the plane, narrowing at the broken enclosure behind us, the face-mask dangling from the top. Then his gaze swung back to me, wide-eyed.

"Taking ice-baths?"

A short giggle burst out of my mouth. 

"Hey, hey," Tony soothed, his face very close. "Let's get off this floor, huh?"

He reached for me but we were distracted by the clang of metal in the doorway, as War Machine stepped inside the plane. He was carrying Zemo in one arm, wrapped around the man's torso. Zemo was unconscious.

"I feel like a garbage man," Rhodey said, setting Zemo down, none too gently, on the opposite bench.

My eyes were drawn to Zemo. He really wasn't much to look at, slumped against the wall. Rhodey began working on tying Zemo up, first his feet, then his hands behind his back, and cuffing him to the bench. 

"You okay, Cap?" Rhodey's faceplate came up as well. He looked over my way, studying me intently. 

I transferred my gaze back to Tony. 

My throat wouldn't cooperate for a moment before I forced out, in a rough voice, "Bucky." Tony's eyes flickered to my face. Last time Zemo had come after us, he'd used Bucky. I had to make sure he was safe. "Check on him?" 

"Friday?" Tony said, with mild exasperation colouring his voice. 

"Mr. Barnes has been notified of your location and status," Friday's voice responded. "He is in the Quinjet hangar. He requests rendezvous." I just bet Bucky had used that exact language.

Tony's eyes rolled. "We've got this. Right, Cap? You with me?"

I didn't know _what_ I was. Cold. He was next to me, and he was probably warm under the armor.

Rhodey stood, suit's joints making a soft whirring sound. "I'm going to check flight controls." He strode to the front of the plane. "Need to turn this party back around, we're almost to Greenland." 

Tony put a hand out for me to grip. "C'mon, Cap. Up!"

I blinked at his hand for a moment, before placing mine heavily in his. I wasn't sure my limbs would cooperate enough for me to get to my feet, even with his help. His armor was actually slightly warm to the touch, which was likely a byproduct of how cold my own skin was.

Instead of simply helping me up, Tony shifted my hand to get a better look. 

"Holy shit," he was staring at my bare knuckles, the broken skin showing through the openings in the fingerless gloves. I don't know why he kept looking so surprised. I don't know what he expected to find, but it obviously wasn't this. I desperately wished I could pull myself together, but my thoughts kept scattering. "Your other hand is like that too?" Tony growled, passing his armored fingers over the remains of a cuff on my left wrist and it unlocked, falling on the floor with a clatter, like a magnet with polarity reversed. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" he was saying, brow creased with concern.

My body would heal. With a slight out-of-body sensation, I watched Tony weave a careful arm under my armpit, wrapping around my torso, and then the world tilted side-ways for a moment. By the time I realized what was happening, he'd dragged me over to the side bench. 

I was still nauseous, and shivering continuously, but at least I was off the dirty, wet floor. 

I wiped my palms across my wet face. Droplets of water rolled down from my hair, over my cheeks and dripped off my chin. I wiped my nose with the sleeve of my uniform, knowing I looked a sight. I couldn't stop shivering. 

"Okay," Tony sounded inexplicably nervous. "We need blankets. Towels. There has to be― Something? In the back. Get your wet clothes off," he ordered, rising decisively, servos of the suit whirring, and went to examine the back of the plane. 

I wasn't taking my clothes off with Zemo here, able to wake up at any second, I didn't care how cold or wet I was. He'd dragged me straight through my personal hell, I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of this final humiliation. The memory of being his captive was too close. I didn't know how long he had been drugging me, before I woke up in the water tank.

I had a sudden horrifying thought that maybe I'd been asleep for a while. Zemo could have kept me under for weeks, or even longer. Tony...could have married Pepper, while I was gone. Peggy had gotten married and lived her life while I slept under the ice. I took careful breaths, forcing myself to calm down against the sudden onset of panic. 

"How l-long was I gone?"

"About sixteen hours total," Rhodey said briskly from the front seat. "Took us a bit of time to pick up his scent, sorry, Cap."

Hours.

It felt longer.

I startled when a fuzzy blanket was thrust in my face. Tony wasn't wearing the armor anymore. Iron Man suit stood next to him, with a repulsor arm out, pointed at Zemo's unconscious form.

"His core temperature is low," Tony said unexpectedly. 

I stared up at him not sure what he wanted, realizing he was talking to Rhodey only when the other man answered. "Take care of it."

"I _am_ taking care of it. Fly this rust-bucket home." Tony's eyes met mine again. "I got this."

He was worried about me. My shivering wasn't getting any better. I could do with taking the top half of the uniform off. I started to struggle with the collar. My fingers were clumsy, numb.

"Let-Let me," Tony mumbled, crouching in front of me knocking my hands away, and helping me with the clasps. He knew my uniform like the back of his hand, I remembered. The thought warmed me up. I shut my eyes, while Tony struggled with the collar. Tilted my head to the ceiling, leaning it against the wall behind me, to give him access. My mind was focused on the brushes of his fingers against the skin on my throat, with exquisite focus. "Don't fall asleep on me," Tony murmured. "Gotta get you out of these clothes."

Eyes still shut, I gave a weak laugh.

"I know," Tony huffed a laugh of his own at the innuendo. Then he muttered, "We have crap timing."

Opening my eyes a bit, I squinted at him, but he was looking down, hands busy with clasps along the seams down my chest, the wet material proving difficult to handle.

"God, Cap, we have got to get you a suit with temperature controls. And flotation devices. Maybe jet engines? Just little ones." Tony paused then added hopefully, "I could build you your own armor?"

"No." I laughed again as I said it.

My chest felt warmer. I was safe again, I knew this. Zemo had failed. I was among friends. The cold would pass. I felt a burst of energy fill me, and worked on my torn, fingerless gloves, pulling them steadily off my hands and dropping them on the bench nearby.

"Can you get the rest off on your own?" He looked down at my hands again, and winced. "You might have broken something there, Cap." The shock of his palm against my forehead was unexpected. "You really need to get warmed up." His fingers drifted up and brushed my wet hair back.

A soft beep sounded, barely audible over the sound of the plane engine. I realized it came from Tony's watch when Friday said in her dulcet tones, "Boss, Ms. Potts is trying to reach you."

Something like frustration flashed across Tony's face and he tossed out his answer: "Tell Pep I'll call her back."

Friday must have relayed the message, because Tony's watch made no additional sounds. His hands hovered over me for a second, hesitating, and our eyes met. I felt like Pepper had caught us in the act of something far more intimate than a teammate helping another teammate. For a second, I thought about apologizing, but whatever Tony read in my eyes, his mouth set in a stubborn line and he grabbed my collar, tugging it open with renewed vigor. The wet leather made a plopping sound as it finally came away from my skin. 

At the same time, Rhodes got his own phone-call, at the front of the plane. He looked back our way, frowning as he said, "Hello, Pepper."

Tony glanced up, he mouthed 'Not here' and shook his head. Rhodey rolled his eyes and turned away to face the front of the plane.

"Yes," he said smoothly into the comm in his ear, which must have been relaying Pepper's phone-call through his suit of armor, "I'm actually heading to New York right now."

"I'll tell him first thing I see him," Rhodey said staring ahead, after a period of listening to Pepper. "But you know Tony doesn't listen to me."

Rhodey gave a short laugh at something on the other end of the line.

Next to me, Tony gave a barely audible huff. He was still helping me even as both of us inadvertently eavesdropped on Rhodey's conversation. The silence between us was heavy, but Tony's movements were sure, and we didn't need to talk for me to know what he wanted me to do. He helped me out of the top half of the suit, letting it plop heavily around my hips, and immediately stood to unwrap a large thermal blanket, throwing it over my shoulders, bunched up at the front under my chin. I tugged the material out of his hold, and curled my hand on my chest, holding the blanket in place. My hands hurt more with each passing second, as sensation returned to the upper layer of skin. Tony watched the hand on my chest, gears turning inside his head. Slowly, he began rubbing his hands across the blanket, up and down, with open palms sliding over my upper arms and shoulders, generating heat.

Our eyes met and held, the rest of the world vanishing for a moment.

When Rhodey was done with the phone-call, he turned around in place to face us. "You owe me."

"Always," Tony said with soft promise, not looking away from where he was helping me dry off. Then he added petulantly, "And what do you mean? I do too listen." He slid his hand up over the blanket, placing the palm right against the back of my neck, the warm heat of it sinking into my chilled skin. I fought not to lean more into his touch, right there, welcoming and warm.

"Do you?" Rhodey said, voice edged with frustration as his eyes flickered to where Tony's hands lay against the bare skin of my neck. "I didn't just fob off Pepper so you could...do whatever it is you think you're doing," he gestured our way with a whirr of a metallic gloved hand, dismayed. I could appreciate what it looked like. I couldn't be sure that Rhodey wasn't right about what was happening, with Tony so close to me, looking at me the way he was. That we weren't crossing an invisible line between right and wrong, because even though his touch could be read as friendly, the expression on his face was too heated for that. I wasn't too sure what would be happening if Rhodey wasn't around and we were alone.

I shifted, making to edge away, but Tony's hands wouldn't let me. His long fingers sunk into the edges of the fuzzy thermal blanket around my shoulders and held on with a vice grip, keeping me close.

"I know what I'm doing," Tony replied curtly, eyes locked with mine. I couldn't tell if he was saying the words for Rhodey's benefit or mine, but the look on his face made it difficult to breathe. It was the look of someone who'd made a leap of faith and couldn't believe they'd came out on the other side safe and whole. The fiery look of a zealot. And still his eyes searched mine and he stayed stubbornly silent.

"Tony?" I managed to say. "What's going on?" What was he keeping to himself? 

When Tony looked mulishly back, I couldn't stand the wait anymore. I felt like I was being yanked around each time he hesitated, stuck between cruel hope and despair. My earlier burst of energy had fled. I had the serum to thank for being able to keep upright. "Just..." _Tell me_ , I begged him with my eyes. 

"You're hurt, this isn't the time―" Tony evaded.

"Just be honest with me," I asked him. If he couldn't bring himself to trust me now, then nothing had been fixed after all. Tony waffled for another breath. Clutching the blanket around myself, I felt stupid for hoping, felt too naked and raw. Tony's dark eyes raked over my form, and I sensed the moment he decided I'd get my wish as his eyes traced the blanket to my scraped knuckles. 

"What's going on," he repeated, voice hoarse. Something in his gaze changed, solidified into a decision. My heart beat faster yet. "Steve, you're all I think about, and I don't know how to tell Pepper."

I think I flushed from head to toe. His dark eyes pleaded with me for understanding.

"Christ, Tony." Rhodey said from the side, a wince in his tone. I'd forgotten he was even here.

Tony evidently had as well. He startled, and glanced at his friend with a pained, rueful look. I couldn't take my eyes off Tony. I didn't look away; at that precise moment, I didn't care what Rhodey thought about me. I didn't care what the whole world thought. I wanted to touch Tony, kiss him, hold him again. It seemed unconscionable that I would only sit there, with nothing to say in answer to his confession.

Tony's face was flushed and his eyes were bright, certain. I could see the truth written in them. He didn't mean thinking about me friendly-like, but like he wanted me. I'd felt as much during our single kiss, the way he'd melted against my body, the way his mouth had quickly opened under mine. Neither of us could hide from the attraction we felt, from the way the energy between us so easily changed into a charged, heady atmosphere seemingly outside of our control. I'd felt it, of course, beyond the physical, almost animalistic urge, for years now. That day in the beginning, in New York, I'd felt it as the sun sparked off his suit when he woke up, and we had won. I just didn't have a name for it then, like I did now. That feeling of fitting together. I didn't want to be without him. The emotional side of our connection was as powerful as the physical; that's what made it hard to try to shove it away and pretend it didn't matter. 

And now he had admitted he felt it, too. For the first time, I looked at him and thought: maybe this could be mine.

I'd almost lost everything today, and now I maybe got this. I had to say something. I couldn't screw this up. I remembered Sam's words, coming as if from a great distance, about our self-destructive game of never admitting a thing and waiting each other out. Tony blinked! Tony was blinking at me, _right now_!

 _Take it_ , I thought. _Don't back down now._

"You're nuts," was what my traitorous mouth said instead, and I shivered again. This time not from the cold.

"No, _you're_ nuts," Tony said softly, shifting closer, taking the ends of the blanket from my numb fingers and drawing it even more closed yet, bundling me up. Then, he put his arms around me, blanket and all. "Okay?" he asked. I managed a nod. 

Once we landed back at the Compound, reality would reassert itself. There would be other people, other concerns. I couldn't think about that. I couldn't think about the outside world at all. Just then, I could believe in the impossible. I think I was smiling, but I couldn't really feel my face at all. I felt like I was floating, and Tony, dear and familiar, was all that was anchoring me to this world. The cold was gone. I barely dared to believe he was with me; holding me, running his hand up and down my back as he studied my expression, one hundred percent of his focus on me. Just for this one moment, I could have him completely.

"The both of you are nuts!" Rhodey proclaimed.

Zemo woke up behind us and moaned, "I'm in hell."

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

Rhodey flew the plane back to the compound, while Tony and I sat shoulder-to-shoulder on the bench. Rhodey had relayed minimal information about our situation and our prisoner in the hour or so of the remaining flight. The aircraft Zemo had picked out was a simple kind of cargo plane. Thankfully the Avenger's compound had a short airstrip out-back, because Tony thought of _everything_.

The serum was working its magic on my body, but that meant as it compensated for the trauma, I started to crash from exhaustion. My thoughts felt disjointed. At one point, Tony made some noises about getting me out of the rest of my suit, but the wet leather of my pants was infinitely preferable to the indignity of sitting around mostly naked, with Zemo's beady eyes glaring hatefully at us from the opposite bench.

I also wasn't sure how I felt about Tony helping me undress. Even if getting excited by the idea was beyond me at the moment, I didn't want it to be like that. Not when the fantasy of him helping me out of my clothes under different circumstances was so pleasing. I wasn't sure what he meant to do about us, about any of this, but I was too tired to even feel scared of the possibilities anymore. He was still engaged, but I had reached the absolute _end_ of my ability to feel guilt over loving him. It was almost funny how easily broken my resolve turned out to be, but I wasn't laughing.

I held on to the bench when we rocked on the landing. Tony put a territorial hand on my shoulder, in full view of Zemo. I knew why he did it: to show that Zemo hadn't split us up after all.

As soon as the plane stopped moving and the propeller noise died down, almost as soon as we got to our feet, the faces of the other Avengers filled the door opening.

Natasha was the first to rush forward, drawing me into an embrace. I wrapped an arm around her and hung on tightly for a long moment.

"You're a trouble magnet, aren't you, Cap?" Sam was saying over by the other side, his hand squeezing my shoulder through the blanket.

My eyes met Bucky's over Natasha's shoulder. Bucky's face was drawn and too-pale, but the corner of his mouth ticked up at Sam's words. I rolled my eyes.

"You have to shave if you expect a welcome home kiss," Natasha said as she released me, brushing a finger down the stubble on my chin. Then, she leaned in and gave my cheek a kiss anyway. Her eyes were misty when she finally let me go, turning her head away and slipping out of my embrace.

Wordlessly, Bucky handed me a bottle of water. Like he knew that was exactly what I wanted most. I grabbed it gratefully, drawing a swish and spitting out on the lawn, glad to be finally rid of the taste of stale water and my own vomit. The others were all carefully not watching me when I was done. 

"Let's move this inside," Tony said, jerking his chin in the direction of our quarters in the main building.

I stood my ground. "Not until he is in custody." I looked steadily at Zemo. His face was blank, but I knew if he wasn't cuffed, he'd do something stupid, like go for my eyes with his bare hands. He hated me that much.

"I've got this," Rhodey assured me, placing a gloved hand on Zemo's shoulder, making the man sway forward under the weight. "Trust me, Cap. Already got the word from Tactical about chain of custody for him." I studied Rhodey carefully, but the confidence in his direct stare was enough to get me to accept this solution. I didn't like it, but I wasn't sure how much longer I could stay upright.

"Remind me to have a chat with the guys who were responsible for watching him," Tony put in mildly from my side. He set an unobtrusive hand on my elbow, offering silent support in case I needed to lean on something. He was standing really close, even with the others here.

"Oh, believe me, I will be ripping so many new assholes," Rhodey shook his head. "None of us were notified of the prison break."

I guess they didn't think that'd be something the Avengers would be interested in. Once I wasn't so damn tired, I was going to have a serious conversation with the people responsible for his custody.

During this exchange, Bucky transferred his eyes over to Zemo and went to stand watch over him, a quiet menacing presence.

"I'll come with you," Bucky told Rhodey, in a voice that didn't leave much room for argument, and received a nod back.

Rhodey met Tony's eyes and said, with a quiet seriousness, "We'll chat later." Tony's lips twitched in a weak parody of a smirk, which made Rhodey roll his eyes before he moved along.

Bucky followed behind the pair as Zemo was marched, limping, towards the Quinjet on the other side of the runway. I understood Bucky's need to watch Zemo be locked up for good. If anyone deserved to see that happen, it was Bucky. Zemo had harmed him worse than any of us: he had played with Bucky's mind. Besides, I thought Bucky was doing it for my sake as well; silently backing me up as he had always done, ensuring Zemo was neutralized as a threat to my safety. As for myself, I only watched Zemo being led across the lawn into a waiting Quinjet, and as soon as they were gone from view, I had to lean on Tony more than I liked to. My knees felt ready to buckle.

"Hey, hey," Tony said carefully and clutched my elbow to keep me steady. "Time for good supersoldiers to get some rest. Unless... food?"

Later I would probably be ravenous, but at the moment I didn't have any appetite. The amount of energy the last couple of hours had taken out of me was tremendous, to the point I felt too tired to eat; I thought I could sleep where I stood. But I wasn't sure if sleep was a good idea, if nightmares would come, the kind I hadn't experienced since first waking in this century. Glancing back at the remains of the water tank I'd managed to escape from, I shivered again. I couldn't think about that; I had to stay in the present.

"Get some sleep, Steve," Natasha said in her implacable tones.

"C'mon, I'll walk you to your room," Tony said, tugging my elbow forward. Sam quirked an eyebrow at me, noting the way Tony was hovering, but when I gave him an exhausted, unamused glare he made no comment. I wasn't thinking about anything at that point, not about what Tony had said on the plane, not about how it made me feel. I wasn't capable of processing it. I moved as if in a dream.

On the way to my room, Tony kept talking, as if to fill the silence with meaningless chatter. "―guessing you don't feel like bathing, but you should at least shower― no offense. You didn't say: you want dinner? I'll order something in." When we got there, he took in the Spartan bed-spread and muttered, almost as if to himself. "Want another duvet? To keep you warm. Don't lock the door," he tossed my way as I silently headed for the bathroom on the opposite side of the room.

The time following that was a bit of a blur as I showered and briskly dried myself off. Being dry again gave me enough of a burst of energy to pull on a t-shirt and shorts I meant to sleep in. Immediately after, I had to hold on to the wall as my head grew dizzy with exhaustion.

When sparks cleared from my vision, I saw myself in the bathroom mirror. My face looked older than I was used to. I eyeballed the stubble on my chin, but while I knew losing the stubble would make me feel more normal, I didn't have enough energy to try shaving. 

When I stepped out of the bathroom. Tony sat on the corner of my bed, leaned forward, with his elbows on his knees, hands gripped together.

My heart seized with that very familiar fluttering feeling of happiness at the sight of him, at knowing he hadn't left. The deceptiveness of that initial reaction was the hard part because of how it filled me with hope, but I was getting better at riding it out.

Love wasn't just a flood of chemicals to the brain when you saw that person. Maybe it started as simply as that, but unless it grew, you got over the initial rush quickly. 

Love involved a choice to stay with that person, a conscious decision buttressing any emotional pull. 

Whatever had happened between us on the plane, whatever feelings Tony did have for me, they meant very little as long as he intended for Pepper to be that person for him. 

I shoved all of that down.

Glancing up as I re-entered the room, Tony rose from where he was sitting on the side of my bed, leaving me space to get in, which I did, sliding under the covers gratefully and pulling them up, my head against the firm pillow. The relief to not have to support myself upright seemed overwhelming. I turned on my side and watched Tony pace. Unlike me, Tony was fairly bursting with energy, looking for an outlet for his manic mood.

"Do you want some space or some company?" He rolled back and forth on his feet, hands behind his back, his dark red tie completely askew now. "I could understand either."

What I wanted was for the last twenty-four hours to not have happened. 

Baring that, I'd always rather have him at my side than not. For a little while, I could forget about the outside world and pretend it was just the two of us. I was using his concern for me, using the circumstances of my captivity to hold on to him for a moment longer, but I was too tired to care. Just for a moment in time I wanted to believe in the endless possibilities. "You can stay, Tony," I told him, and stifled a yawn, "for a little while."

His smile of evident relief made my throat clench up. Neither one of us were ready to let go yet. The dark loneliness of the tank flashed before my eyes, and I blinked it away to look at Tony. Such a welcome sight. He came over and pointlessly straightened the covers around me, almost tucking me in. I caught his eyes, savouring the look in them: serious and sincere. 

"Warm enough?" he asked.

I nodded. The only thing better would have been to have him in my arms, but that wasn't something I could ask. Even though... when he had his arms around me on the plane, there'd been something in his face that was almost enough to make me believe he'd choose me. I pictured it, just for a second. A dream that in the quiet stillness of the room seemed within reach.

"I'll stay 'till you fall asleep," he promised, crossing his arms on his chest. "Then, I have to go, see Pepper."

Like a rush, hope left my body.

Reality intruded. He was never gonna leave Pepper. I knew that, I _knew_ it. And I'd still let myself hope, because I was pathetic. 

All my stupid, unwanted emotions obscured the truth for a moment. Now that I was safe and home, Tony didn't need to think about me anymore. He could think about Pepper. I wanted to curl up under the covers, wishing the earth would swallow me whole. Wishing I could cry. As if that would make it stop hurting, but of course it wouldn't. 

I must have made a sound, because Tony looked questioning my way, as if he needed me to tell him I'd be fine on my own before he could leave. "Uh, Steve?"

I turned my face into the pillow, breathing suddenly painful. " _Okay._ You can go!"

"Whoa, wait, what just happened?"

"I thought...You want... _Of course_ , you want her. I get it. I'm sorry, Tony. You should go."

The mattress dipped when he sat next to me. I felt like I was going to burst out of my skin, as if inside me there was no more room to hold these feelings together. 

"Holy shit," Tony said, and his hand went around my shoulder. "I didn't mean―" Then he was begging, "Would you just―. Look at me."

It wasn't supposed to be this hard to refuse him. "What?" I said thinly, turning to face him. My eyes found a spot above his right shoulder and stayed there.

"Whatever you're thinking―. Steve, I-I-I. Fuck. I―." he stumbled on words, his breathing funny. Suddenly, Tony grabbed one of my hands, physically uncurled my fingers from the duvet cover and pulled the hand to him. I didn't resist, my whole world narrowing to watch him bring the healing knuckles to his lips. He pressed a kiss to my skin. Stared at me through thick eye-lashes. I drew in a shaky breath.

As soon as he realized he found a way to communicate, his expression brightened. The corner of Tony's mouth ticked up watching me, the skin around his eyes crinkled a little, and he pressed another dry kiss to my palm, closer to the wrist, where the skin was raw and pink, healing from the cuffs.

" _Tony._ " I turned fully to him. I lifted myself up, first on my elbow, then sitting up in bed, cross-legged. The top of my thigh brushed against his body through the duvet, but nothing compared to the way my hand burned in his grip, as if he was branding me with his mouth.

He pulled my palm to press it to his cheek. I felt the soft bristles of his beard against my skin. 

_Memorize this_. 

I shut my eyes against the heaviness in my chest.

"No, _look_ at me," Tony insisted. I was always looking at him, he took up all the air in the room. He squeezed my hand and I forced my eyes open. "It's _me_."

My mouth went dry.

"I'm gonna break it off with Pepper," Tony said, and tilted his face further into the palm of my hand as if seeking comfort. "For you."

As if reaching inside me, plucking my emotional strings with expert fingers he was telling me what I wanted to hear. I didn't want him to do it for the wrong reasons. I tried to work up some kind of heat, some argument to dissuade him from making a huge mistake while hopped up on adrenaline and relief.

"I don't know what―"

"You _do_ know," Tony insisted. "You know exactly _what_. Don't climb inside your head again and _don't_ tell me you'll handle it. Are you listening to me? I said I want to be with you."

"I, uh." I don't know why I couldn't put a sentence together. All my thoughts were scattering. "I."

"Rendered speechless," Tony said with a crooked little smile. "It's okay." He was moving closer. He was... A surge of lust, like electricity, shot through my body straight to my groin. Tony was leaning in. He was gonna―

I made an embarrassingly weak noise when instead of kissing me, he wrapped an arm around me, and tugged me close. His chin bumped into my shoulder, and it was a little awkward at first, but he didn't let go, he rubbed a hand down my spine and adjusted the position until the hug wasn't weird anymore; it was nice. It felt good. A shuddering, gasping breath left my body. I tried to gulp it back because this― this―

"I know," Tony soothed, the heat of his breath brushing against my skin. "It's _me_. You like me, remember? You want this."

"Don't tell me what I want," I bit out. My other arm betrayed me, lifting to wrap around him, pulling him closer. Tony made a noise and went willingly, tension I didn't realize was there suddenly leaving him, he sank boneless into our embrace. I squeezed my eyes shut. I tried to stay in the moment, not over-analyse it. This close, I could feel him gather his breath to speak a couple of times. Eventually, Tony murmured, "Feels pretty good." He sounded happy. I wrapped both arms around him, relaxing in stages, letting myself feel his body pressed comfortingly against mine, sighing against his shoulder. I didn't know which one of us needed this more. I knew having him safe and in my arms was one of the best feelings in the world. How had it taken us this long to admit that? It eased the memory of him bleeding out from his injury, it soothed so many hurts, replaced them with something bright, something good. 

I sighed again, an involuntary yawn against his hair, which led to the dark strands getting in my mouth. With a breath of air, I expelled the stray hairs, only to yawn again. 

"Are you falling asleep on me?" he murmured.

I forced my eyes open. "No."

I tried to snap myself out of the vague state of mind, gather myself. My eyes fluttered closed. I didn't want to move, possibly ever again. He was warm and seductively pliant against me. Not soft with curves, like a woman, the shape of his shoulders, his arms, undeniably masculine, but fitting in my arms all the same, like he was made for this.

"Because it would be okay," Tony said quietly, "if you did that."

"No," I yawned again, straining against it. Opened my eyes and resolved to stay awake. "You can't mean this."

He hmmed, snuggling into the embrace.

"Talk to me. Tony."

I felt the tension crawl back into his body again. "Isn't much more to say."

"Say it anyway," I ordered, pleaded. "Tell me."

Tony was silent for a long moment.

"I can't marry Pepper. That's pretty obvious, I think. Can't, won't." He shifted discontentedly and I ran a comforting hand down his spine. "I tried to tell myself I could go through with the wedding. I tried thinking only about her, but when I know something, I can't ignore it. That day I kissed you, I just― knew. I thought...I'm _stupefied_ that's what it took. I'm honestly kind of impressed with my powers of self-delusion at this point." I tried to lean back to look into his face, but he wouldn't let me. "No, this is hard and, it's, a― uh a little easier to say it like this, without. Your face. Sometimes you're so you, I can't take it, honestly; what you do to me." Contrary to his words, his fingers pressed into my back, pulling me closer. "I shouldn't even be telling you this now, because you seem like you're holding together with duct-tape, but maybe that's exactly the time for me to say it, before you get things under control again." He sighed. "You're too good at that."

I couldn't breathe around the meaning of his words. "Tony," I whispered eventually. "Look at me."

The repetition of his earlier order made him pause, before he slid out of my embrace, leaning back, my hands still resting on his shoulders. We looked at each other. Every crease in his skin, the slightly dopey curve of his mouth, the flop of the dark hair on his forehead, all of it was endearing and familiar as to be borderline painful to look at. The _love_ I felt for him shook me to my core, the desperate need to make sure he was okay, that he was happy. This was all a beautiful dream, but it was time to wake up.

I loved him more than I loved _being with_ him.

That gave me strength. I swallowed roughly and said what had to be said. "Ten years, Tony." He flinched, startled, and I saw he knew what I was talking about before I said another word. He'd thought about it too, and I could see it paining him. "Pepper isn't someone you just walk away from. Not like this." You had to have honour to live a good life. It's just sometimes doing the honourable thing hurt like hell.

Tony found my hand against his neck and covered it with his own, drawing his fingers through mine, pulling my hand down until he held it to his chest.

"If I put off telling Pepper, it's not because I don't want to. Just... Have no idea how to actually do it." He looked away, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb against the skin of my palm. It was very soothing. I fought the desire to draw him close, to melt again into his touch. Tony was still talking, "We've, uh, broken up a couple of times before...three times. If you ask her, she'll probably say five, but I don't think that time in Chicago counts, and we never really talked about the one over Christmas."

"I thought..." I didn't know what to say to that. _Five times?_ I'd known about _one_ of those. Maybe two. As far as most people were concerned, they'd been solid as a couple for nearly a decade. Of course, I understood about keeping up appearances, but that sure sounded like a lot of fighting to keep quiet. But they had, because they wanted to stay together, because they chose that path.

He lowered his eyes. "I convinced her to take me back every time."

I wish I didn't hear the heartache in his voice. "You love her." Tony was about to speak but I squeezed his hand to stop him. "I know you two fought, and I know things got, um, intense between us earlier," I flushed a little, remembering my swooning collapse into his arms. "But I know you love her. You wouldn't have tried so hard to stay together if you didn't."

He opened his mouth to speak; shut it again. Yeah.

"I don't want you to make a mistake," I told him and felt my breath catch. Because I felt like a mistake, like something he'll grow to regret later, like I would only ever bring him pain. That's all I've ever done. And when the rush of emotions passed and he remembered who he was again, I would lose him for sure.

"Are you listening to me? I said want to be with you," Tony whispered. " _You,_ " he stressed.

Later, I'd pull those words out of my memories and look at them, examine them for inflection and warm myself with them. I would keep them in my heart forever. Right now, I shoved them down into the deep corners of my mind. My body had passed exhaustion and reached the next stage where I didn't remember if I was tired anymore, everything was gray around the edges of my vision. Still I ploughed on, trying to make him see what I saw. Our future. "You said you couldn't let Pepper down. I know you meant that. And what's breaking off your engagement then?" His expression flickered with hurt at the perceived rebuke. "Because you're scared of losing me? You won't _lose_ me if you choose to be with her. I promise," I offered softly. The more I looked into his pained face, the more I was convinced he had to try to fix things with Pepper, for his own sake. So he would have no regrets. "I'm not going anywhere. Not to Berlin. Not to any other place. I'll be right here. And if you and Pepper work out whatever you fight about? I could still be your friend."

"Contrary to popular belief, I actually know what I want. That's you," Tony answered, with a quiet intent to annihilate any objections in his way. I couldn't look him in the eyes and say what I had to say, so I stared down at his hand in mine, fingers joined and pressed to his sternum.

"You do _now_. But with time you'll― You'll grow to resent me for making you choose. You'll grow unhappy. You won't respect me, because you won't be able to respect yourself. That'll be the end. And I..." my throat felt too tight to speak for a moment, voice dropping to a whisper, "I know it's selfish, but I can't lose you like that." 

I tried to lift my eyes to his.

When I managed, Tony's mouth had fallen slightly open, and I wasn't sure he was breathing at all as we stared at each other for a drawn out moment. He looked at me as if he saw me for the very first time. 

A blink and the expression was gone. His eyes filled.

"Steve," he insisted, pleading with me without another word. 

I hoped, I wished my eyes could speak for me, too. I wondered if he would grow angry with me again. Call me a tease, call me broken. If that would make things easier for him. The reality was if he stopped now, before he made a choice fueled by fear and adrenaline, it would hurt us both less in the long run. I'd much rather have his friendship and respect than fail at this and lose him entirely. I'd much rather love and admire him from afar. No matter what, I was steadfast in my resolve, and I knew the moment he saw that. 

Tony tossed his head back, face turned toward the ceiling, expression tormented. He stared up unblinking, with a blind, disordered stare, as if in supplication. A shudder worked through him, and holding onto his hand I felt it travel through his body. I saw him shut his eyes and just stay like that for a second. Two. I couldn't guess what he was thinking, except for turning my words over in his head. Eventually, Tony let out a jittery breath and looked back towards me again. The expression in his eyes was indescribable. 

Like looking into the sun, his eyes healed and flayed me open at the same time. Then, for some reason, he slowly drew his other hand up to my cheek. I shivered at the contact. Stroking once with his thumb he said in a very gentle voice, "You can't lose me, because I'm a sure thing."

How much more could I bear? " _Tony_ ―"

"It's not enough, for me, anymore, to be without you. It feels like starving: physically, mentally, emotionally." I felt as if he was crushing my heart into a million pieces and molding it back together in a different, new configuration. I wanted it to stop. I was ready to beg him to stop. Tony drew in a deep shuddering breath and withdrew his hand. I missed it immediately.

"You're not thinking straight, Tony. The adrenaline, the― everything." I waved a hand encompassing all of our circumstance, the crazy lives we lived. I almost died today. He had almost lost a friend. Of course, he wasn't thinking straight.

"No, I am," Tony argued back like I knew he would. He jumped up off the bed, tearing away from me, running a frantic hand through his hair, still looking at me with a thousand thoughts flashing behind his eyes. "I think you need a good night's sleep, Steve. I shouldn't have—. You went through hell. Rest," Tony said fervently, like an incantation against harm. His gaze my way was both tenderly affectionate and almost amused, in that adoring way that jumbled up my thoughts. "It'll all seem clearer in the morning."

"I'm not gonna change my mind," I said, sullenly disappointed he wasn't taking me seriously, because he thought my thinking was compromised. For once in a long while my thinking was clear. I could stand a lot, but I couldn't stand to lose his friendship again. It had hurt too much the last time. I couldn't do it again. I couldn't lose him like that again. And I knew I would. I always lost everyone.

Tony's mouth quirked, a pained, understanding little smile. "You need to get some sleep," he repeated.

I lay back on the bed because I knew he wouldn't leave it well enough alone until I did. As soon as my head touched the pillows, I had to stifle a yawn working through me. But I didn't want to shut my eyes while he was here. I always wanted to look at him.

"Want me to get someone to stay with you?" Tony asked. "Sam?" Then, almost tentative, "...Bucky?"

I blinked at the nickname, touched. It had always been 'Barnes' with him before. Such a little detail, tiny in the grand scheme of things, but a gesture that couldn't go unnoticed. Tony looked faintly embarrassed, and shrugged to dismiss the awkwardness. "He's your best friend," he explained, with a little in-drawn sigh. "Want me to call him to come stay with you?"

"I'll be alright," I said, trying to mean it in every way and drawing covers up to my chin again. "Thank you."

"I'll have my armor guarding the door. Friday will respond if you call out. Nothing can get to you here," Tony promised, heartfelt. "Get some sleep."

I tried to find comfort in his concern. We would have to find some new ways to coexist, once he came to his senses. It was nice to think we would be building from a place of some kindness and warmth. This was right. I believed that. I _tried_ to believe that.

Another torn look my way, and Tony turned to go. 

In the doorway, hand on the doorknob, he stopped with his back still to me.

"Steve. I'll make it right. Then maybe you won't hate having feelings for me so much," he said, and left.

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

There were no dreams. There was no pain, but no comfort either. I was alone. Until crossing a threshold of consciousness, I simply existed. The world seemed vague and far away. I didn't want or feel. I drifted ever closer towards wakefulness, taking some stock of my body, my limbs splayed under the heavy warmth of my duvet. As I began to wake up from a deep, deep sleep, thoughts were coming back... memories... I didn't want to think about them anymore. I wanted to sleep. I drifted off again.

A while later, consciousness came back slowly. I was still in my bed. I listened and heard nothing. Blinking my eyes open, the grey wall opposite the bed slowly came into focus.

I was going to miss my morning run with Sam. My eyes were slipping shut again. He would understand.

I didn't fall asleep completely after that, but I wasn't wholly conscious either. Time passed. Minutes. Hours. Unconnected thoughts drifted through my head. Wishes, wonderings.

At one point, within the haze of fantasy, I was picturing myself lying on the lush green grass outdoors, face turned up to the sky. I had never laid down on grass like that. I hadn't thought I wanted to. It just didn't seem like something I had time for. Just to lie down like that and stare at the clouds for hours. It felt frivolous.

I let the thought slip away and resisted the tug of reality for a little longer. Then I couldn't put it aside anymore, and awareness edged itself into my mind, bringing with it a full memory of the events from last night.

The intimacy we shared seemed like a nice dream. A romantic fantasy of Tony 'seeing the light', realizing I was the one... His body close to mine. I still felt his touch on my ribs, back, neck. Everywhere his fingers skirted over my body. His words had sounded like promises. I wasn't delusional about what he meant when he promised to leave Pepper _for me_ , but the knowledge left a twisted feeling in my chest, a hollowness, something like fear. Why? I rolled over on my back, staring up at the blank ceiling. Wasn't I supposed to be happy to hear it? Wasn't Tony promising everything I wanted? Why did hearing him confess those things made me doubt myself again.

I jerked at the soft knock on the door.

"Steve?" It was Bucky. 

My bladder was full. I had to get up.

"You in there?" Bucky called again through the door.

"Yeah," I answered, turning towards the sound. I could picture him on the other side as easily as if I could see through the door separating us. "I'm up." I rolled out of bed, my bare feet on the floor, pleasantly warm. The floor was heated, in my room, in the bathroom. I never asked for it ― it would have been indulgent ― but now that I had it, I rather liked it.

A moment's silence, then Bucky said: "We're having breakfast. You coming?" I glanced at the bed-clock. Ten am. Four hours later than I normally got up.

"Be there in five," I called back, and heard him move off back down the hall. I pushed the blankets away. I never thought I would see these particular worn blankets again. They were mine, from before, from the old Avengers compound, before it was redesigned. From back when we lived here and I led the New Avengers with Nat, and Tony stayed away, back in the Tower. I had them back. This room. The stack of photos in the drawer, tied with a yellow ribbon. All the photos I'd been able to scrounge up of the Howlies, Bucky from before, Peggy through the years. I'd given these photos up as gone when I left. When I was exiled from my home, my country. And the stack of photos had been waiting for me, in the drawer, when I came back.

No use asking what that meant. I rubbed my palms across my face, shaking off the reminiscence. I had to shave, make myself presentable, and see the others, reassure them. 

Again, that distressing flutter of panic in my chest. I didn't know if Tony would be there.

"FRIDAY?" I asked, just to be sure. "Is Tony around?"

"Boss is not on the premises," she responded. Relief mixed with disappointment.

I didn't ask FRIDAY where he went. California? He had said he was going to see Pepper. To tell her everything? She already knew my feelings. I wasn't afraid of that. I didn't feel guilty. I couldn't change how I felt. I couldn't change how he felt.

What did I have to fear?

After washing up and shaving, I headed out of my bedroom. Outside my door, an Iron Man suit moved its head to watch me leave, silent. Tony had promised to place one of his suits outside to watch over me while I slept, and like a sentinel, it now stood guarding at my door. The armor didn't move from its at-rest position, but its robotic stare watched until I turned the corner on my way for the common area.

Her back to me, Natasha sat on a high swivel chair at the breakfast table, in a green tank-top and black sweatpants. Her red hair curled loosely from a ponytail down the nape of her neck. Bucky, also dressed comfortably in a dark shirt and jeans, stood at her side, the thumb of his hand laying on the curve of her waist, at the edge of the shirt, where a sliver of pale skin showed under the clothes. Bucky was saying something softly just for her, and from what I could see when Nat turned her face sideways it must have been funny, she was failing to contain a smile. Her hand traveled over around Bucky's waist and slid into the back pocket of his jeans, drawing him closer to her.

I made noise in my approach so they would become aware of my presence and Natasha turned her head. "Steve," she called, perceptive green eyes meeting mine. Bucky stole a piece of fruit from her plate before going to the isle with the stove. By the time I made it to the breakfast table, he was sliding a plate with eggs, ham and some kind of greens before me. 

"Don't say I never did anything for you." Bucky smirked, and slid into his own chair, before squinting. "You doing okay?"

"I'm good."

"You're not eating," Natasha said.

I didn't feel particularly hungry. I knew I had to eat because it had been some twenty-four hours since I'd had anything solid, but my mouth didn't water over the food on the table. Instead, I noticed the TV playing on the wall off to the side, turned to the news channel, volume on low. I could hear just fine as the news cast switched from a ravaged hospital in the middle of reconstruction to a 'feel good story' of the upcoming Stark-Potts wedding. There was apparently controversial speculation about the dress Pepper would wear, but it was overall a hopeful, uplifting event, the kind we 'needed more of in our lives'. Something going right for once, they said.

Wordlessly, Bucky lifted a remote and clicked the channel off.

"So," he said gruffly, spearing a piece of his own scrambled egg and staring at it like it would reveal secrets of the universe, "That Parker kid called and they are still all-hands on deck for the reconstruction project in Queens. Nat and I were gonna go chip in again. Sam, too. You in?"

I was always in for that. There was just something I had to do first, but I knew the looks it would get me when I said it out-loud.

"Only if you feel up to it, Steve," Natasha said, clearly misreading my hesitation.

"I'm in," I said. "I just want to see Zemo first. Where are they holding him?" I asked mildly, and ate a piece of my own egg breakfast.

Natasha and Bucky exchanged glances. To let them sort themselves out, I continued eating. 

"I went with Rhodes," Bucky said, voice low with anger. "The detail they've got on his ass is solid. You know I wouldn't have come back without making sure."

"I know." I nodded, not wanting him to think I ever doubted him. "It's not about that. I need to see him behind bars, Buck. For my sake." I was too tired yesterday, but this morning I felt this was something I had to do.

I let them chew on that, while I finished my breakfast. Now that I was putting food in my mouth I found to my startlement that it tasted better than expected, perhaps because I found I was ravenous. I'd gotten so used to being hungry I didn't even know it.

"We'll come with you," Natasha offered.

"That's unnecessary." I made my voice implacable, a Captain's voice, so they would relent quickly. "I won't be long. I'll join you on-site at Queens. Might even bring Rhodes with me, if he's free. We could use an armored Avenger."

Again an awkward silence fell at once, as our minds swung inexorably to the man that wasn't around. Natasha and Bucky were both looking at me with wide soulful eyes, an almost identical expression on both their faces: _how do I not make this worse?_ Tony was too large a presence to avoid noticing the empty spaces around the compound where I could still remember him strolling, gesticulating, laughing. The skin around his eyes crinkled when he laughed.

"Tony went to California?" I said as lightly as I could.

"Yes," Natasha said carefully as if walking on eggshells. "Did he tell you when he's coming back?"

No, he didn't.  


 

* * *

 

I had called ahead. Rhodey met me at the gate of the correctional facility, signed me in as guest and escorted me personally. I wanted to see Zemo before he would be flown back to EU, to be held there under the terms of the original guilty plea. In the corridors, armed guards saluted us as we walked. Rhodey didn't say much. When we stood before the mirrored one-way glass, looking at the man cuffed where he sat, unable to see us, Rhodey reached for a button on the wall, saying, "If you want him to see you―" I shook my head, and Rhodey lowered his hand from the switch. 

I felt him looking at me; no doubt frowning, uncertain. I didn't explain myself. Bucky would have understood. Tony would have.

This wasn't about revenge. It wasn't about showing Zemo that I had won. This was about me seeing the man who'd twice almost destroyed my life and knowing I wasn't playing to his tune anymore. I had escaped from his water prison of my own power. In a way it had settled something inside me. Last night, nightmares didn't trouble my sleep. I didn't dream of death or drowning; I dreamt of being free.

Rhodey stood next to me while I silently observed Zemo through the glass. After a couple of minutes, he set a firm hand on my shoulder.

"We've got it this time, Cap," Rhodey said with a quiet assurance. "He's not getting away again."

"I'm not worried," I said. If Zemo ever did try, I knew I could beat him. The last forty-eight hours had taught me that much. I could take him on if he ever tried to take my world away from me again. And I had friends I could count on, to watch my back.

I looked over at Rhodey again when he squeezed my shoulder.

His expression was impassive as his eyes met mine, the strict lines of his mouth never relaxing as he studied me.

"C'mon, take a breather," he said, slapping the back of my chair. "Let me buy you lunch." 

I followed him outside to a burger joint down the street. On the way there we hardly spoke except for small talk about the weather and similar. Rhodey was obviously sitting on whatever he wanted to say until a more appropriate moment, but I was tired of playing games.

"Why does this feel more serious than lunch," I said mildly when we settled at our table and ordered.

Rhodey studied me critically for a moment before saying, "You look tired, Steve."

"It's been that kind of a week."

"It's been a strange year." Rhodey nodded. Twirled a fork between his fingers. "I talked to Tony."

I squeezed the napkin in my hand, trying to keep my expression blank. Rhodey's dark eyes were too shrewd to entertain any possibility he didn't know exactly what went down, my ill-timed confession, maybe even our one and only kiss.

"I appreciate this must be difficult for you," Rhodey said. The waiter brought us our salad and burgers, he grabbed his between both hands, ready to bite into it, but continued studying me with his deep dark gaze. I wasn't that hungry. "I've been around Tony for, God, I don't want to think how many years," Rhodey chuckled, "and I know how it goes, believe me."

"How it goes?" I repeated. If he was here to reveal some kind of a hidden torch for Tony, I really did not want to hear it.

Rhodey must have read what I was thinking on my face, because he nearly dropped his burger. "Not like that," he hurried to assure, and shake his head, snorting. "I mean that... When you're around Tony, he has this way of making you forget what you ought to be doing. You know what I'm talking about." He said as if stating the obvious. "Suddenly, all sorts of fantastical things seem possible, and you can't remember which way is up, because he makes you see this entire universe of possibilities, confusing everything." He glanced my way. "You know?"

When Tony walked into the room he had a way of making everything else dim and fade into the background, true. But, I hadn't felt it like Rhodey described, like being around Tony clouded my reason. Instead, I often felt like my purpose was clearest when I was next to him. It was the rest of the time that it was harder to remember how bright and hopeful the future looked when I was with Tony.

I must have frowned, because Rhodey was frowning back as well at my lack of agreement. "Well, anyway." He coughed. "I just wanted to say I'm glad you've been reasonable about all this."

"All this?" 

"You know," he waved a hand, and finally bit into his burger. After he chewed and swallowed, Rhodey continued, "Tony always, always gets in over his head. And you're―" he waved a hand again, "―maintaining appropriate boundaries. Those are a real problem for someone like him. Tony won't thank you for keeping your distance, but I will."

The paper napkin in my hand tore under the pressure of my fingers and I hid my hands on my lap, below the table. I couldn't keep down the words pressing to escape. "You seem quite certain." 

Looking at Tony, seeing the mistakes we made with each other, how hard they had been to recover from, was difficult, but at the same time... I still loved him. I still felt like that meant a lot to him, he treated it as something important; that never stopped. If we could go through all that ugly hell and come out on the other side still having each other's back, it meant we could do _anything_. That's how I always felt with him on my side in battle, and maybe... Maybe I could believe it also when it was just us. Not Captain America and Iron Man, facing down whatever universal Bad Guy. Just Tony and Steve and... life. I stared at Rhodey uncertainly, feeling something inside my chest catch at the thought. As if even though I'd known what I was giving up, I was only starting to truly _feel_ it now, down to my bones. It was more than a simple heartache.

I always thought of myself as a hopeful person. Forcing myself to give up Tony felt a lot like giving up on hope.

"Pepper will still be there when he comes to his senses. Everything will be good again, normal." I almost startled to find Rhodey still talking and giving me a serious look. For a second he looked a little like Happy Hogan, assuring me of the great match that was Tony and Pepper together, and the contrast with the way Tony had laid it out, anxiously clutching my hand to his chest, was stark. "Tony's gotten this _idea_ in his head, and you know how he is about ideas. He'll try his damnest to make it true. He'll try to convince you it's the _only_ way. Tony always wants to convince you, more than anyone else I've ever met. And he gets so disappointed when he can't. He thinks it's him, he could have tried harder, he hasn't done enough. As his friend, it's hell to watch."

I remembered Sam's words to me, how I could try to convince Tony to change his mind. Fight for what I wanted, put myself out there, the way Tony always did. The way he was doing right now, making me those promises.

"I'm not saying it's your fault. That's just who you are, and who Tony is. He can't help himself when it comes to you. And when things go wrong again, and you have another massive fight... I don't want to watch him put himself back together again," Rhodey was saying. "And Pepper's not like you. She doesn't let herself be pulled into his crazy. She grounds him."

I thought of Tony's words. _It feels like starving._

My breath caught and I felt myself panic a little. 

What was I doing here?

"Hey, what―" Rhodey started when I jumped to my feet, roughly pushing my chair back. I got my wallet out, and with shaking fingers threw a couple of banknotes on the table to cover my bill. 

"Gotta go," I said, breathless, and suddenly laughing at myself, at the universe. It couldn't keep us apart. Only we ourselves could do that. "I've wasted so much time!"

I had to get back home. I had to― I had to talk to Tony.

"Cap!" Rhodey called after me, "Don't―."

I strode out of the cafe as fast as my legs would carry me, practically running back to where I left my bike. 

Tony was on the other side of the continent. I didn't know exactly how I would make it to him. I just knew I had to try. You could get used to being hungry to the point where you no longer recognized it about yourself. 

Sometimes you could live and not really be living.

 

* * *

 

I made the two-hour drive back to the Compound in one.

The thing was, at times Tony got an idea in his head and then he went and _did it_. Committed.

I don't think he knew how rare that was, to go for it, at full-throttle, barreling through every obstacle in your path with sheer force of will, intellect and heart. Tony had the rare gift of all three. If asked, he'd probably say he didn't know any other way to live. He would be telling the truth.

Being the focus of that was not easy.

It was scary. Monumental.

Sometimes it made you forget that underneath the appearance of a force of nature was a man. A man with his heart laid bare.

I couldn't let him down. I couldn't meet him less than half-way. No more holding back. It had to be all or nothing. If we did this, we were in it together.

By the time I jumped off the bike outside of the Compound, I was ready to do whatever it took to see him. If I had to fly to California for that, I'd commandeer a Quinjet. I wasn't letting circumstances keep us apart anymore, I'd gone too far for that. But when I asked FRIDAY where to find Tony, she just said: his workshop. So, heart pounding, I ran there, and I saw Tony through the glass door, standing still in front of his monitors, shoulders hunched. He startled to see me right outside the door.

Tony had come back, flown back. He had come back and I knew he had told Pepper everything he promised he would. He'd done it, broken things off. I knew it from just a look; the way I could always read him, the lingering weariness and pain in his face carefully composed and made presentable. His eyes looked almost bruised, seemingly enormous as they tracked my face. 

With a flick of a hand Tony let me inside the workshop, walking towards me, his eyes running over my appearance, the dust from the highways having settled into the creases of my cloth, into my hair, wild from the wind.

And Tony, he looked so real and human and _right there_ before me. Nothing like the intimidating image I'd carried in my head for too long, the unattainable love that I could always chase and never have.

"I love you," I blurted out, still breathless, but for an entirely different reason. My heart felt full to bursting just looking at him. "And if you don't want me, I'll never speak of it again, but, _Tony_. I never told you how much I want to be here. With you."

My chest was heaving, and I wasn't sure what I'd see if I looked in a mirror. The face of a man possessed by an idea he couldn't shake, something he couldn't walk away from.

Tony was still.

"Rhodey texted me earlier," he said slowly. "He said that you're out of your mind. I see what he meant by that." He quirked a smile to ease the tension between us. I wouldn't let him. I wanted it, the tension, the struggle. I wanted it all.

"No," I said walking closer, reaching for his hand. Tony let me take it. "I am completely rational," ― a quickly drawn breath ― "when I say I want you. I love you. I want to be with you. It's not true what you said before, I don't hate it at all. I could never hate it. It's the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"You― mean the _worst_ ," Tony said his voice suddenly wobbly.

"The best," I insisted. How could I ever explain how I saw him? How he changed my center of gravity? How it felt good to have the certainty that I had when I was with him? That the pain was worth it, because I didn't want normal or easy. I wanted him.

"I don't believe that," Tony laughed; sounding almost distraught and the sound sliced through my heart. "But it's okay. I know I can― I'll try, Steve. It can be good, I know it can. You can feel good about― about _me._ Us." His fingers squeezed mine frantically. "I said I'll break it off with Pep. And I." His already unsteady voice grew hoarse. "I did. It's over." 

I wished I could make things easier. With a nervous jerk Tony pulled his hand away, and rubbed his mouth, then curled his fingers in a fist and pressed it to his lips.

"God, that feels strange to say," he whispered, contemplating. Then from somewhere Tony found the wherewithal to try for a smile. "But it's done now. So that's― good?"

"You don't have to―. Don't do that." I said, watching him try to wipe his face blank of any grief or any pain, as if nothing touched him. It was like watching him put on a mask, another version of his armor. "I understand. You've been through so much together."

"Yeah, we have." Tony moved away, pacing, his words accompanying the tentatively hopeful expression on his face. "That's not going away. Sometimes I thought I couldn't last a day without her." His hand started to rise to his sternum, but Tony noticed and forced it to drop down to the side. "She was all I had. I needed Pepper to get through what I had to get through. Afghanistan, New York," ― a flicker of a glance my way ―"everything..." Without having to hear it, I knew he meant our fight. I knew he'd leaned on her after what went down. I had leaned on my friends. Tony stopped pacing and turned to me. "She's a part of my life. But she deserves better than being my life-preserver. I can paddle like a big boy." He gave a crooked grin.

"You are more to each other than that."

"Fuck, Steve. Are you hearing yourself?" Irritation sparked off in his tone in a way I hadn't anticipated. Frustration. Uncertainty? "Are you trying to talk me out of it again? Because it's _done_!" Fear crept into his words.

"I know, Tony―"

"I made my choice. I'll live with it." He glared at me and I saw that the anger was just a cover for the hurt. He stepped closer, until we were face to face, eyes searching mine. "I hope you can live with it, too."

My gut twisted. Not because I was uncertain, no. Because I never wanted to be one of his regrets and _still_ I wondered if I could reach for him and risk what the future brought. I wouldn't be the only one bearing the consequences. "I just... I want you to be sure this is what _you_ want."

"I knew what I wanted when I was eighteen, my parents were dead, and I wanted Captain America from the stories to come _save me_ ," Tony's eyes blazed, he moved forward to put a hand on my cheek, tracing his fingers down my jaw.

"Tony..." 

"But miracles like that don't happen in this world, do they? And what have I ever done to deserve something that good?" He brushed my lip with his thumb, murmuring, half to himself, "I still don't know that."

He straightened, drew his hand away from my face. "You learn to make do with what's _real_. What you can _have_. And I knew I could never have _you_. I knew." His breathing grew laboured. And _damn_ , his eyes were even more beautiful up-close. "We were something impossible, Steve. That's what I understood. The moment I met you I― I kept screwing up, actually building on top of my screw-ups and then―and then. I never knew it more than once you walked away. I couldn't deal with it. How it made me feel; how you made me feel. I thought... What if I was wrong about everything? My whole life... When I flew over there, I thought we'd be okay, you and I. I was gonna make things better. That was what I wanted." 

That moment when we looked at each other in the bunker and I'd thought finally, finally things were going to be good. I knew exactly how Tony felt.

He was saying, "I thought then you'd realize we were too good together to give that up for anything. I _needed_ it. Well, we know what happened next. Catastrophe. You were gone." He gave a grim little smile. His chin came up, "I couldn't give up, so. I made do without you."

Didn't he understand? "I couldn't― I couldn't keep fighting you!" It tore out of my throat like a scream would, though not nearly so loud. "Don't you see? I couldn't― I can't― _I hurt you. I kept hurting you._ And I couldn't stand it. That's why I gave up. That's why I stayed away." I mumbled, going to turn away with a hollow ache in my chest at the memory. He stopped me.

Tony grabbed my hands, pulled at them until I had no choice but to face him again.

"That's just it." His eyes were wet. "All this time, Steve, you― you never gave up. I wasn't wrong; not about you, not about _us_. I'm an absolute idiot when it comes to you, but I see that now. You tried so hard to be good in _impossible_ circumstances. Even now― Looking out for everyone else first. That's not giving up. And before, fighting me, to―to save me from murdering an innocent man." And Tony wrapped his arms around me, and his lips were pressed hotly to the side of my face, next to my ear, his breath against my skin. "I never thanked you for that. _Thank you_." His lips slid down, peppering kisses along my jaw, while his hands stayed wrapped around me in a warm embrace. I couldn't move to respond, rooted where I stood. It felt as if an enormous weight slid off my shoulders, like laying down a thick armor, lowering my shield. There was something inside me, opening, like the first ray of dawn cracking open the night. "For everything. For being who you are."

"You don't have to...." I mumbled, silently elated, flushing as he kept kissing my face. I knew he could feel the heat radiating off my skin. There was no hiding how much it all meant to me, but embarrassment turned to warmth and gratitude that he was here with me. That he believed in me, like I believed in him. My hands came up to hold his waist, but to pull him closer, not to draw away.

"Sure I do." He was kissing my jaw again. When he got to my mouth, Tony paused, an inch away. "And I do love you. Fuck, do I ever." He shivered but his voice stayed steady, sure. "I love you the way I didn't think existed." He put a hand on my chest and I was sure he could feel my heart trying to jump out of my chest. "Like my heart is yours."

"Tony," I mumbled again, voice reduced to a vulnerable whisper. "It's the other way around. You have mine."

Tony glowed. "I do, don't I?" His lips split into grin and the skin around his eyes crinkled. "Isn't that great?"

And he kissed me.  


 

* * *

 

**Epilogue**

 

I was lying on my back on the grass, sunbeams dancing on my face where they filtered through the foliage of the tree.

"Tony?" I said to the man lying next to me, who was trying his best to keep still. "I think this grass is still a bit damp from the morning dew." 

Tony hmmed in response.

I ran my fingers over the edges of the blades of lush grass. "I don't like it," I said after another moment, still lying there, cataloging the feeling.

"Thank god," came a soft chuckle from the side. Tony was not a fan of unvarnished nature experience. His head appeared in my line of vision, propped up on one elbow, the previously white cuff stained green from the grass. One of his eyebrows was lifted sharply to convey the 'I told you so', but the line of his mouth stretched wide with amusement. 

"Also, I think a bug is trying to crawl in my ear." I brushed the annoyance away with my hand. I'd wanted to try this based on a fantasy I had once, but the reality didn't quite match the expectations. That was okay. What matched the expectations, exceeded them, was Tony's willingness to try something like this with me.

Tony shimmied closer and rolled so the back of his head landed on my chest, a warm weight. I put my hand into his hair instead, enjoying the feel of the silky strands on my fingers. I could never get tired of touching him.

"So we get a blanket, next time, make a picnic of it," Tony started talking, motioning with one hand in the air, like an orchestra conductor. "I can fly us somewhere scenic, you bring your paints or whatever, draw all the clouds you like, yeah?"

Of course, Tony wasn't about to give up after one bad experience. If he was going to be frivolous, he would do it with gusto; really _apply_ himself. Try, try, try. Fail and try again.

"Yeah," I agreed a little wistfully, not fighting the rush of feeling that swept through me. I thought about everything that had to happen to get me here, to this moment, lying next to this man, running my fingers through his hair, listening to him talk. Getting it right. You could be thirty-four or one hundred before you learned to let someone love you.

Tony made a blind grab for my hand and when he caught it, pulled my fingers to his lips, pressing a little kiss there. "Live a little."

I was.

 

**Fin.**

 

**Author's Note:**

> So there you have it. The story is now complete. 
> 
> Tumblr post is [here](https://sheronwrites.tumblr.com/post/171293746514/unintended-by-sheron-77-word-count-36889). Thank you for reading. I always appreciate any comments you may have about the story.


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